Buried in Ashes
by xtexan86
Summary: While hospitalized, Starsky gets an unexpected visit from a relative-David Starsky! And the name isn't the only interesting thing that S&H find out about him, and his friend, Kendrick Hutchinson. NOTICE-Story deals with WWII/Holocaust-34/35 up - Complete!
1. Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** About a year and a half ago, while working on another story, I came across an idea for a different type of S&H tale. What emerged out of that was a project that has since then literally kept me writing every day. Conducting the research for _Ashes_, was both enlightening and extremely heartbreaking, for the story deals with a dark period of history known as the Holocaust. Reading the pain and misery of so many people wasn't easy, especially when my own mother was confined at both Dachau and Buchenwald during World War II as a slave laborer. Sometimes I would come across an incident that was just too horrific, I couldn't bring myself to include it in the story. And yet, during those times, I would remind myself of all the millions who never got a chance to tell their stories. So, this is for the victims...may we never forget you.

My sincere and grateful appreciation goes out to my betas, **britwizz** and **Dawnwind**. Ladies, I couldn't have done this without your wonderful help. And a special 'thank you' goes out to **Nicol Tyler**, who graciously produced several pieces of artwork for this story. At some future point, I will post a link to my website where you can view her work and the story in its original format and entirety.

(This story is complete - The first two chapters are below, and starting Monday, each following chapter will be posted daily - I hope you enjoy!)

.

**Buried in Ashes**

May 30, 1979

David Starsky sat down at his kitchen table. The breakfast dishes were washed and dried, except for one cup that was still full of coffee. A mound of letters and newspapers sat in the center of the small table, waiting to be sorted. The mail had been accumulating at the post office for the last few weeks while he'd been away visiting his daughter halfway across the country in Chicago. Within a few minutes, he'd finished dividing the letters into two separate piles—one for the trash, the other bills—and started to skim through the newspapers.

Once he had sorted them from oldest to newest, he decided to just quickly scan through the first few pages of each, looking for any interesting headlines. As he read over the 'News around the State' section for Sunday the 6th of May, a story out of Los Angeles leapt out at him.

.

**Bay City **– A police officer is in critical condition after being gunned down at a local precinct in what sources say was an apparent mob hit. Witnesses claim the gunman was disguised as a uniformed cop, and reports indicate that an automatic weapon was used. Detective Sergeant David M. Starsky was shot numerous times and is currently in the ICU at Memorial Hospital. His partner, Detective Sergeant Kenneth R. Hutchinson was not injured. The suspect(s) involved remain at large.

.

David immediately scanned through the remaining papers, breathing a sigh of relief when he found a more recent article on the shooting.

.

**Bay City **– James M. Gunther, CEO and head of Gunther Industries, Inc., was arrested on Thursday, May 10th, in San Francisco in connection with the shooting of Bay City Police Sergeant David Starsky. Although charges are still pending in the case, it is believed Gunther will be facing two counts of conspiracy to commit murder of a police officer. If convicted, Gunther could be sentenced to life imprisonment. According to a spokesman from the Bay City Police Department, Sergeant Starsky is still listed in critical condition at a local hospital.

.

David tossed the paper down and reached for the telephone. After obtaining the number from information, he called the police department in Bay City, eventually getting hold of someone in public relations. Armed with the most recent information, he threw on a jacket and sprinted out the door.

Fifteen minutes later, he arrived at a small, but pleasant-looking cottage a half mile from the beach and just off one of the main streets in town. Grabbing the two newspapers, he got out of the car and sprinted up to the front door.

Kendrick Hutchinson stood in the kitchen, watering the last of his house plants. One in particular, a small Ficus, looked withered and dry. The plant had fallen victim to the playful antics of his new kitten and now seemed to be facing almost certain death. Torn from his task by a pounding at his door, Kendrick placed the sprinkler on the kitchen table and hurried over to see who his visitor was.

"Oh for God's sake, David, I'm not deaf you know!" he huffed, recognizing his old friend.

Pushing his way into the house, David quipped, "I think you might want to get a second opinion on that." He stopped about halfway into the living room, then abruptly turned and waved the newspapers at the man still standing at the open door. "Well, are you just going to stand there, or should I go tell my news to the cat?"

Kendrick let out a sigh and rolled his eyes. He closed the door and joined David by the couch. "Would you like to sit down?" he asked calmly. "Can I get you anything? Some coffee?"

"I run over here to tell you something, and you want to waste time getting me coffee?"

Raising his hands in surrender, Kendrick said, "Fine. Make yourself comfortable." He sat down in his recliner and promptly folded both arms across his chest, looking as interested as a bored five-year-old.

David shook his head. "You're some friend, you know that?" he said. He took a quick glance around the room. "Where's Vanessa?"

"Shopping," Kendrick answered flatly. "A new mall opened up over by the interchange. She left here at 8:30 sharp."

Smirking, David gave a nod. He went over and dumped the papers in Kendrick's lap. "Here," he said, pointing to the first article, "Read this."

He watched as Kendrick read the story, curious what his reaction would be.

"I can't believe this," Kendrick whispered.

"Look at the date."

"May the 6th. What's so special about…"

"No, that's the date the paper came out. The shooting, that happened on the 5th." When his friend still looked confused, David quietly added, "May the 5th."

Kendrick's face instantly went pale. "How…?" He looked down at the paper again. "That's unbelievable. Is he…is he still alive?"

Letting go of a long sigh, David replied, "Yes. I just called the police department down there before coming over. I have to meet him, Kendrick."

"Why? Do you think he's a relative?"

David's gaze drifted to the floor. "I don't know, maybe. I never did find out what happened to my cousin Michael. But this…" he said, pointing to the newspaper. "I can't do nothing. Will you come with me?"

Kendrick stared at him. "David, are you sure…? I mean, so we have the same last names, that doesn't mean anything. What would these two cops care anyway?"

"Fine, I'll go by myself." He reached down to grab the newspaper. "Hey!"

A hand grabbed David's arm. Kendrick's eyes fell on the line of six little numbers tattooed on the left forearm, and seemed to linger there for a moment before he gently released his grip. "That's a good six-hour drive," he said calmly. "Let me talk to Van when she gets back. I'm sure she won't miss me for a few days. We can leave first thing tomorrow morning. Would that be alright?"

David smiled and nodded his head. "Sorry, I just…I don't know how to explain it…"

"I know," Kendrick said firmly. "Memories, right?"

"Yeah—memories."

* * *

Later that night, David finished packing the last few pieces of clothing in an overnight bag. He'd found a hotel that was only a couple of blocks away from the hospital in Los Angeles and made reservations for the next two nights. If the wounded cop didn't turn out to be a relative, he and Kendrick could spend some time sightseeing in the big city.

Just as he was closing the zipper on the bag, David suddenly remembered one last item. He went over to his dresser and picked up the silver framed picture sitting on top. The black and white photo underneath the glass definitely showed signs of wear. Lines and creases marred the image and one corner on top was bent. But the young woman's portrait still looked as clear and vibrant as the day it was taken, some forty years ago. She had an angelic face, framed with shoulder-length, wavy black hair. Her smile was bright and full, which made the pair of dimples under her cheeks hard to miss. Finally, thick, curled lashes accentuated the doll-like eyes, making them sparkle and appear full of life.

From the day she'd entered his life, this remarkable woman had never left his heart. She'd been his best friend, constant companion and blessed him with his first child. As a wife, she'd given him the finest years of her life. David brought the picture up to his mouth and gave it a kiss. He carefully placed it inside the travel bag and got ready for bed.

* * *

"Did you remember to bring a map?"

Kendrick turned his attention away from the road and glared over at his passenger. "You ask me this _after_ we've already been driving for two hours?"

"Well, did you or didn't you?" David pressed, ignoring Kendrick's sarcastic tone.

"I know how to get down to Los Angeles. Why, in heaven's name, would I need a map?"

"Any idiot can figure out how to get there, Mr. Smarty Pants," David intoned. "But how do we find the hospital?"

"Ask for directions, like anybody else."

"I've seen you ask for directions. You don't listen and then get lost even more."

Kendrick huffed. "I asked you if you wanted to drive and you said 'no.' So, either quit yapping or you can get out and start walking. Your choice."

"All right, you don't have to be so crabby."

David propped his head up and stared out the window. Ever since picking him up this morning, Kendrick had noticed his friend was a little grumpier than usual. Thinking David might have changed his mind, Kendrick had asked if he still wanted to go. The answer had been a very unambiguous "Of course, you dummy." Without worrying too much over his pouting passenger, Kendrick concentrated on driving. He knew David would eventually talk about whatever was bothering him. And true to form, the wait wasn't long.

"You know, I was thinking," David began, "if this kid is related to me…I mean, do you think he could actually be Michael's son?"

"Is that what you're hoping?" Kendrick asked. Although David rarely spoke about his cousin, he'd always mentioned the possibility of finding him one day.

David shifted nervously in his seat. "Well, yeah…" There was a long pause before he continued. "I guess I've just about given up on ever knowing what happened to him. He could've ended up anywhere after the war." He let out a deep sigh, then added quietly, "Probably too much to hope for."

Kendrick looked over at him. David's last comment had sounded much too distraught. Instinct was already telling him to pull over before Kendrick saw the first tear. He quickly stopped the car and reached over to comfort his friend. Kendrick had only seen a few of David's terrifying flashbacks. Gradually, they'd diminished over the years, but until each one was over, there was no way of predicting just how bad they might be. Sometimes, a whiff of something burning would set David off, other times, memories alone could do the trick. This time, Kendrick suspected the later was to blame.

"It's all right, buddy, I'm here," Kendrick said in his most soothing voice. Thankfully, David was already trying to compose himself. Kendrick opened the glove box, snatching a small box of tissues. He pulled a couple out and pressed them into David's hand. "Here you are. Everything's going to be fine."

David wadded up the tissues and dabbed his eyes. "Shit…you'd think one of these days I'd be able to quit crying like a baby."

"It's okay. You've got nothing to be ashamed of." Kendrick patted him on the shoulder. If there was ever a definition of bravery, it was the man sitting right beside him. "It won't be too much longer and we'll be there. Hopefully, you'll get some good news."

David snorted. "It'd just be nice, to see him again—" He gazed at Kendrick, his indigo eyes still shimmering with tears. "Michael was a decent man. He lost his father sooner than I did, but that didn't keep him from making the most out of life. I still can't believe his mother just abandoned him. Some people never seem to appreciate what they've got."

"I know. I didn't realize that until I lost my parents." Kendrick rubbed David's back one last time, then grabbed the steering wheel. Over the years, he and David had learned the best way to deal with their painful memories was to get back to the present. The past would never change, but the future always contained the promise of better times. Kendrick checked his rear view mirror and eased the car back onto the highway.

* * *

Hutch watched the doctor turn around and leave the room, leading a small pack of med students out the door with him. Mumbling a few profanities, Hutch glanced over at Starsky. His partner lay in bed, still too weak to do much more than shift gingerly from one side to the other. For the past week, the doctors had cut back unmercifully on his pain medication. Hutch was sure, had it not been for the heated discussion just now, that Starsky would've been down to two aspirin starting tomorrow.

Hutch got out of his chair and went into the bathroom. The tight look he'd seen forming around Starsky's eyes and mouth meant only one thing—the imminent arrival of pain. A moment later, he emerged with a wet washcloth and returned to his partner's bedside. He carefully wiped around Starsky's face, then folded the cloth and placed it across his forehead.

"Feel any better?" Hutch asked, knowing the washcloth was nothing compared to a good dose of morphine.

Starsky closed his eyes and frowned slightly. "Yeah, terrific. Don't know how they expect people to heal up when they hurt like hell."

Hutch smiled in sympathy. "Remember that guy I was telling you about last night?" he ventured, wanting to change the topic.

Starsky opened his eyes. "The one that thinks he might be related to me?" he asked, scrunching up his face.

"Yeah, that one. You still feel like meeting him today?"

"You thinkin' he might be here for something other than a family reunion?"

Hutch took the washcloth off. "I don't think so. Hanson in Records says the only thing he could dig up on _Mr._ _Starsky_ was a few speeding tickets."

That produced a short chuckle. "He probably _is_ a relative then." With a more serious tone, Starsky said, "Hey, if he isn't…"

"I've got your back, partner. When he gets here, I'll go talk to him first."

The curly head nodded. With his eyes drifting shut, Starsky mumbled, "Always wanted my own bodyguard."

Hutch pulled the bedspread up under Starsky's chin. It was still a miracle to see him like this. Alive. Talking in complete sentences. But Hutch was selfish. He wanted him completely healed, and _now_. Starsky had already suffered enough, and while it was crazy to think that the worst of his pain was over, he didn't need some publicity-seeking civilian trying to convince him he was some long-lost relative—especially if that meant digging up painful memories.

* * *

David and Kendrick sat in the lobby at Memorial Hospital. As they waited for someone from the police department to come and talk with them, Kendrick watched his friend with amused interest. He hadn't seen David this jumpy since awaiting the birth of his daughter. Then, as now, he could barely remain still—his head darting back and forth, and eyes latching onto each approaching person, hoping they were coming for him.

Kendrick was worried, though. If this cop didn't turn out to be related to Michael, he wasn't sure how David would take it. His cousin was the only family member whose fate had remained uncertain after the Holocaust. If he had survived, it would mean everything to David, the least of which would be that the Nazis hadn't succeeded in wiping out his entire family.

When David suddenly went rigid, Kendrick followed his stare to the blond-haired man who had just entered the reception area. Upon seeing them he'd stopped in his tracks, acting as though he'd seen a ghost. Kendrick was stunned, as well. Did _he_ have a younger cousin? He looked back at David. The shocked expression on his friend's face must have mirrored his own.

The man approached them hesitantly. "I'm Sergeant Hutchinson," he said, "Detective Starsky's partner."

David stood up and offered his hand. "I'm David Starsky, and this," nodding towards Kendrick, "is my friend, Kendrick Hutchinson."

Kendrick rose and shook the sergeant's hand. For a moment, everyone just stared at one another.

Breaking the silence, Kendrick said, "Since we all seem to have similar names, what do you prefer, Sergeant?"

"'Hutch' is fine, and my partner goes by 'Starsky'."

"Ah," David said, "Hutch and Starsky. It has a nice ring to it."

Hutch couldn't help but chuckle. "And what should I call you?"

"Anything nice will do," David quipped, which drew another smile from Hutch. "But usually I answer to 'David' and my friend here, if you say his name loud enough, goes by 'Kendrick.'"

Hutch watched affectionately as the older man gave his friend a nasty smirk; however, it was time to get to a more serious topic. "Why don't we go into the family room over here?" Hutch announced. "It'll be a little more private."

As the three headed off, Hutch mentally shook his head. Meeting these two men was like peering thirty years into the future. If David wasn't related to Starsky, and if Kendrick didn't have a common ancestor with Hutch, then there was obviously something very wrong with the natural order of the universe.

Entering the room, David picked a seat on the blue fabric couch. Kendrick followed right behind and sat comfortably right next to him. _Just like he and Starsky_, Hutch thought.

"I know you've traveled a long way today." Hutch said, taking the chair opposite them. "And there's no doubt my partner is going to want to see you, but he's not really having one of his better days." He looked at the two disappointed faces, and added, "What I'm saying is, let's leave how long you stay up to him. Is that okay?"

"Of course," David spoke up. "It's not our intention to cause any problems."

Hutch acknowledged him with a grateful smile. He looked at Kendrick, and for a few moments found himself intently studying the features on the older face, but before the man could tell he was staring, Hutch broke off his inspection.

"Ah, David…let me ask you something," Hutch said, leaning forward in his seat. "When we spoke on the phone last night, you said you and Michael Starsky were cousins."

"Yes. His father and my father were brothers."

"And your father's name was Jakob?" David nodded. "And Michael's father was…"

"Malakhi. Malakhi Isaiah. He died in 1938."

"When was the last time you saw Michael?" Hutch asked, careful to not divulge the truth about Starsky's dad.

"I think it was March…no, maybe April, 1940. He was rounded up in a _lapanka…_that's a Polish word. The Nazis, they would round up people off of the street and take them away." David's eyes grew dim and he bowed his head slightly. "That's my last memory of him. Standing in the back of a lorry."

Kendrick, sitting next to David, put a comforting hand on his thigh.

Hutch watched the surreal moment with a sense of amazement. Had the two people in front of him not been flesh and blood, Hutch would've thought someone was pulling his leg. Could these two really be old relatives?

Clearing his throat, he said, "I'm going to go see how Stars…uh, Dave—my partner, is doing. Is there anything I can get you before I go?"

Both men shook their heads.

After excusing himself, Hutch got on the elevator and pressed the fourth floor button. Right now, he was probably more anxious to see Starsky than the visitors downstairs. When he got back to the room, he was glad his partner was still awake.

"Well, that was quick. I guess the guy was just a quack, huh?"

Hutch stopped at the foot of the bed. "Starsky, what was your grandfather's name?"

The pale face twisted in confusion. "My grandfather?"

"Yeah, your father's father," Hutch pressed impatiently. "What was his name?"

"Mal…Malcolm…no—Malakhi. I think. Why?"

"Are you sure?"

Starsky frowned. "He died way before I was born, Hutch."

"What year?" Seeing another confused look, Hutch repeated, "What year did he die?"

"Hutch, why don't you just…"

"Starsky, c'mon. What year? Roughly?"

He glanced up at the ceiling. "I'm pretty sure it was before World War II started." Lowering his gaze back to Hutch, Starsky said, "Would you quit playin' twenty questions and just tell me what's going on?"

"Starsk, the guy that's here—he makes _Nick_ look like a distant relative."

* * *

A few minutes later, the two Davids and the two Kens found themselves studying each other for an awkwardly long moment. Finally, David broke the silence.

"You look just like your father," he said to Starsky. "Are you an only child?"

Starsky glanced over at Hutch, who shook his head almost imperceptibly.

"I have a younger brother," he began. "He lives in New York, not far from my mom, Rachel."

"Oh, I see," David said, taking a seat in the chair closest to the bedside. He remembered Michael seeing a different woman. But it was Starsky's lack of mentioning anything about his father that had him worried. Before David could ask that dreaded question, Starsky saved him the trouble.

"My father used to be a cop. One night, after he got off work, he was shot and killed. That was in 1956—over twenty years ago."

David felt his heart tear. He'd had a sense of foreboding all day, and now, after decades of not knowing, he'd gotten his answer. Feeling a slight pressure on his shoulder, he glanced to the side, not surprised that Kendrick was offering sympathy. But then movement from the hospital bed drew his attention. Starsky had extended his hand, palm up, wanting to hold David's.

"I'm sorry," David said forlornly, taking Starsky's hand. "I should be offering you condolences. He was your father."

Starsky gave him a weak smile. "I've had a little more time to deal with it."

David felt his hand squeezed tighter. "I tried to find out what had happened," he said, "where the Nazis had taken him. But so many documents were destroyed…it was just impossible."

"I know that he escaped during a march to a concentration camp. My mother could probably tell you more—"

Starsky suddenly grimaced and let out a quick gasp. Hutch was by his side in an instant, but Starsky stuck his arm out and stopped him. "It's just a cramp," he wheezed. "I'll be fine."

David glanced at Kendrick and hastily stood up. "This is not a good time, we understand. Maybe tomorrow, before we go back home…"

"Huh? No, wait!" Starsky pushed harder at his partner. "I'm fine, Hutch, okay?" He turned back to David. "Hey, I'd really like to know more about my Pop, and the two of you. How long have you been friends?"

"Well," David said, "since we were kids." He stopped answering, not sure if he should continue. Starsky definitely looked like he needed a shot of something. "Are you sure you want to hear this now?"

"Trust me," Starsky huffed, still taking short breaths, "It'll take my mind off of things."

David peered over at Hutch, who nodded affirmably. "It's a long story; I'm not sure where to start."

"Tell me about your family. How about—hey, did you have a bar mitzvah?" Starsky asked.

"Yes, I did."

"Then start there."

* * *

Chapter 2

.

March 25, 1934 – Southeastern Germany

"Mazel Tov, Jakob! You must be proud of your son. Congratulations!"

David Starsky could hear the greetings of the guests arriving downstairs, but had no interest in going down to join them. Sitting on his bed, he studied the design of the tallit laid out in front of him, thinking about its significance. The prayer shawl was a birthday gift from his father, who no doubt had been anticipating this day for a long time. David had tried to act pleased when Jakob gave it to him, but he still had mixed feelings about tonight's upcoming ceremony. A part of him couldn't wait to be considered an adult, but the other part felt he didn't deserve such recognition.

Unlike Jakob, a traditionalist, David was less than enthusiastic about going to the temple and studying the ancient texts. In that respect, he was like his mother, Catherine. She'd followed some of the teachings and observed the holy days, but didn't consider herself a devout Jew. David wanted to learn something other than Hebrew, like becoming an auto mechanic, a job he could make good money doing. He'd always been interested in cars. Not just the metal shell that gave each one its unique look, but the true essence of what made it run—a piston-driven motor. Catherine had seen that desire in him, and had even insisted that Jakob allow him to spend time at a local auto shop, learning what he could. After many nights of arguing between the adults, a compromise had finally been reached.

But when his mother had died a few months ago, so had the hope of becoming what he wanted to be. His father told him there would be plenty of time when he was older to learn a proper profession, like bookkeeping, where he could come home with clean clothes and hands. For now, though, there'd be no spending time at the mechanic's. Jakob's decision was hard to accept, and left David aching for the understanding only his mother could offer. He missed her tremendously. There were still too many nights, last night among them, when tears led the way to sleep.

As the noise from downstairs drew him away from the past, David took a look at the piece of paper lying on his desk. It was a handwritten section from the Torah he was expected to recite at the synagogue this afternoon. He picked it up, and looked at one of the sentences he'd underlined.

_Vayedaber Adonay el-Moshe lemor_.

The phrase resonated in his head and he tried it out loud. "Va-ye-da-ber, A-don, A-donay, el-Moshe le-mo, le-mor…damn!"

David wadded up the paper furiously and tossed it away. He looked at the small clock sitting on his desk. Five minutes until four o'clock. Finally! He jumped off the bed and dashed out of the tiny loft and down the stairs. His father caught sight of him just as he grabbed his jacket from the crowded coat rack.

"David! Where are you going? Everyone is here," Jakob called, stepping away from a group of people.

"To Kendrick's. He invited me for supper, remember?"

His father came closer, his face showing concern. "Of course I remember, but you should welcome your guests first. Some have come from all the way across town."

David let out a prolonged sigh, louder than intended. He hung his coat back up and followed behind Jakob as he returned to their visitors.

* * *

Half an hour later, David was walking briskly through the old Catholic neighborhood. He liked this part of town. Instead of rows and rows of brick apartment buildings like his neighborhood, this area had beautiful old churches mixed in with modern apartments and decorative store fronts. The streets were also densely packed as people had more upscale shops and banks to patronize along the busy thoroughfares. And every few blocks, there was at least one park.

He and his best friend had grown up here together. David had known Kendrick Hutchinson since they had started going to school. Almost exact opposites of each other on the outside—David with a darker complexion and curly brown hair, Kendrick with fair skin and straight, blond hair —their inner selves matched perfectly. Their bond had grown even stronger a few years earlier, when Kendrick lost both parents in an explosion at a local factory. David had pleaded with his father to take the young boy in, but Jakob had refused, saying their family didn't make enough money to feed another mouth. Eventually, Kendrick was adopted by an older, childless couple, but David often wondered if, had his friend been Jewish, the outcome would've been different.

Crossing one last street, David arrived at a modest brick building and dashed up the staircase to the third floor. It had been a while since he'd been to Kendrick's because his adoptive parents didn't invite him over very often. At least, that's what he figured since this was only the third time he'd been asked to come since Kendrick's real parents died.

When his friend opened the door, David suddenly found himself speechless.

"Hey, David," Kendrick blurted out, standing like a soldier at attention. "What do you think?"

David stared at the figure before him, not sure if he was looking at a boy or a young man. The camel-colored wool jacket Kendrick was wearing looked sharp. It had several front pockets and each flap closed with a silver button. A shirt in a lighter shade of brown and a tie peeked out from underneath, and a black leather belt and cross strap made Kendrick's chest appear larger than it actually was. A sheathed dagger in a metal scabbard hung off the belt, and just above his left elbow, Kendrick wore a red and white striped band. David's eyes fixed on the black swastika set in a white circle embroidered on its side.

Not sure what to say or do, David remained outside in the hall. Kendrick's mother appeared and stood behind him. Putting a hand on her son's shoulder, she said, "Doesn't he look nice, David? Kendrick just had his first meeting in the Hitler Jugend; he really likes it. Too bad you're only thirteen." The woman paused for a moment, then coolly added, "Then again, Jews aren't allowed to join—are they, Kendrick?"

The blond dropped his head, and a bit of his pride seemed to disappear. "No, I don't think so," he answered weakly.

David gave the uniform one more cursory glance. "It looks good on you," he replied, his mouth feeling like dust.

Smiling like a cat just before killing a bird, the woman pulled Kendrick away from the door and remarked, "Well, let's not keep your father waiting, _liebchen_. Come in, David. We don't want dinner getting cold."

.

After eating, the two boys went outside and walked over to the nearest park. The trees were still bare, but tiny leaf buds were starting to sprout. Sparrows flew among the branches, joined occasionally by a starling or two. Finding an empty bench, David sat down, followed by Kendrick. Both remained silent for a while, taking in the comings and goings of other visitors.

Finally, Kendrick spoke up. "You didn't eat very much. Weren't you hungry?"

"Yeah, I mean, it was good. We don't eat pork at home, though."

"Oh, I didn't know. Mother seemed to think that you'd like chops."

David turned to look at him. "I don't think she likes me. At least, not as much as your real mom did."

Kendrick gave him an apologetic smile. "You're probably right." The smile faded as he asked, "Do you miss your mom?"

"Yeah, a lot. Why'd you ask?"

"Just curious. I think my new parents have more money than my real Mom and Dad ever did."

"Do they buy you a lot of things?" David asked, his attention momentarily drawn to kid riding a bicycle nearby.

"All the time." Kendrick looked down at his clothes. "When I came home from school the other day, this was all laid out on my bed. I talked to a few kids at the meeting, and they said these uniforms cost a lot of money."

David studied the clothing again, and for a second time became fixated with the arm band. "If my father sees you wearing that, I don't think he'll like it," he said.

Kendrick saw what David was looking at. "It's just the German flag. I think it makes the uniform look official." He glanced up and catching David's attention, remarked, "If they'd let you, would you want to join?"

"Maybe…is that a real knife?" David asked, spying the dagger's handle.

"Yeah, the blade's really sharp." Kendrick leaned back and drew the dagger out of its sheath. He pricked one of his fingers with the tip of the blade, drawing a tiny drop of blood. He then handed it to David.

"_Blut und Ehre_," he said, reading the engraved words on the blade. "Blood and Honor?"

"It's our motto."

David continued looking at the knife. He wasn't surprised that the handle had a diamond-shape inlay containing a swastika. Handing it back, he asked, "So, what do you use it for?"

Kendrick shrugged his shoulders. "They haven't told us yet." He slipped it back into the scabbard. "Did you learn what you're supposed to read tonight?"

"Oh, _scheisse_! I forgot about the time!" David sprang up from the bench. "I've got to go. Papa will kill me if I'm late." He paused, then added, "Thanks for inviting me today."

"I'm glad my parents let you come. Maybe you can come again next week?"

"I'd like to."

David turned and started to hurry down the street. He'd be surprised if Kendrick's invitation was still good by the time next week came. Although his friend's parents never were very kind to him, David had felt particularly shunned by them this evening. He remembered when their families were still alive, and he and Kendrick would constantly visit each other's homes. Religious preferences hadn't mattered then, nor politics. It had all changed now and, obviously, not for the better.

* * *

"Hey David! Wait!"

David turned as Kendrick ran up to him. "Hi, Kendrick," he said flatly and continued walking.

A few leaves drifted down to the ground from the trees that lined the street. The air was crisp today, feeling more like early winter than the middle of autumn.

"Why haven't you been at school?" Kendrick asked, catching up with his friend. "Don't you know we have a test next week?"

"I've been working."

"You've been working? Why?"

"Father says the Nazis are telling people not to buy from the Jews. He's losing customers, so I have to work now."

Kendrick slowed down, but when David kept walking, he hurried to keep pace with him. "What about school?"

David shrugged his shoulders.

"Do you want me to ask for some homework for you?"

This time, he stopped walking and in a tired voice said, "I don't know when I'll be able to do it." He stared at Kendrick for a moment, and added, "I see you have a new jacket. Do you like going to those meetings?"

Kendrick dropped his head. "They're okay," he lied.

Truth was he'd never had so much fun before in his life. Since the spring, he'd made new friends, gone on weekend camping trips and earned a lot of badges. Only when the adult leaders started to condemn Jews, did he think about the ones he knew. At least, one in particular. He glanced back at the brunet and noticed the empty look on his face.

"David, are we still friends?" he asked, not sure how to interpret the boy's silence.

"I don't know. I don't think my father wants me to see you anymore." David replied, his voice heavy and sad.

"When I hear them say bad things about the Jews," Kendrick began, "I start thinking about you—and I know it's not true. But I like being in the group, David. We're always doing something fun…" A cold stare from David stopped him momentarily. "Maybe we shouldn't be friends anymore," Kendrick said softly.

David's expression changed. "It's not your fault you're having fun…and it's not my fault that I have to work. Maybe Papa will get some new customers soon, and I'll come back to school."

"What if you colored your hair blond and said you weren't a Jew anymore? You have blue eyes, so who would know?"

"I'd look silly with blond hair, you idiot! Like Harpo Marx's twin!"

Both broke out in laughter. "Maybe you're right," Kendrick conceded. "I'll bring some homework for you tomorrow."

David nodded then turned and ran up the street. Standing by himself, Kendrick mumbled, "At least people _like_ the Marx brothers…"

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks everyone, for reading this and especially to those of you who've posted reviews. Your feedback is appreciated and relished! I've posted the next two chapters, enjoy!

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**Chapter 3**

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_January 7, 1937_

The cold air swirled along the empty avenues, carrying tiny flakes of ice and snow that glistened in the light from the street lamps overhead. David pulled the lapels of his coat tighter against his neck as he hurried to get home. His employer had kept him working late in preparation for a big sale in the morning. Although he'd been told he wouldn't be paid extra, David had stayed and worked nonetheless. Any job, good or bad, was hard to come by and neither he nor his father could risk losing their small bits of income. There was one good thing about his job, though. Working afternoons and evenings, he could still go to school. When David had almost been kicked out a few months ago for spending too much time at work, sacrifices were made, meals cut down on and old clothes mended and repaired.

But the dreary subjects of work and hard times weren't foremost on David's mind tonight. He had far more important concerns—one in particular. She was beautiful and had entered his life four days ago.

.

"_Excuse me? Where can I find some sewing needles?"_

_David turned towards the soft, feminine voice and was immediately greeted by a heavenly vision. She appeared to be the same age as he, with dark brown hair and the loveliest eyes he'd ever seen. Her cheeks were round and slightly pink and reminded him of an angel he'd once seen in a painting. Suddenly realizing that he was ogling her, he mentally slapped himself._

"_T-they're right over here. I'll show you."_

"_Oh, that would be wonderful."_

_David's heart instantly melted. Her voice was so soothing and inviting. It only took a few seconds to realize why he'd been drawn to it. It was like being able to hear her again, his mother._

"_Here they are. We also have some thread, if you need it."_

_She smiled at him and started examining the thin pads of folded paper. Finding one she liked, she turned and said, "I'm also looking for some buttons. Do you have those, too?"_

"_Yes, right over here." David led her to the next aisle. "My name's David," he said, feeling adventurous. "Do you live around here?"_

"_Hello, David. My name's Hannah." They stopped in front of a large cabinet with glass-fronted drawers. "I live over by the library and art museum, but I'm visiting my cousin. Her apartment is close by, on Linden __Strasse.__"_

"_That's just a few blocks from where I live," David said excitedly. "I was wondering why I'd never seen you at school. Do you visit your cousin often?" _

"_Oh, about once a week."_

_._

David smiled at the memory of their first meeting. And today had been the third time in just as many days that she had stopped in to see him on the way to her cousin's. David had certainly heard of love at first sight, but never given the phrase much consideration until now.

Tonight, he planned to tell his father about her. Jakob had seemed rather distant during the last couple of weeks and David thought the news might lift his spirits. As he approached their apartment building, he was surprised to see there wasn't any light coming from the living room window. It was only about ten o'clock, and Jakob usually didn't go to bed until much later.

Once he got to the front door, he found it unlocked and entered the apartment. There was just enough light from the street lamps outside the window for him to make out the larger objects in the room. Not seeing his father, David called out, but there was no answer. As he started towards the kitchen to flip the light switch, he heard a soft voice in the room.

"I'm here, David. Don't turn on the light."

"Father?" David turned and could now see that Jakob was sitting in the big living room chair. "What's wrong with the lights?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to do some thinking. It's better to be in a dark place when you have to think."

David took a few tentative steps forward. The sound in his father's voice was scaring him.

"What is it, Papa? Is something the matter?"

"Come here, _mayne kaddishel_. Sit down beside me."

David went over and sat down on the floor. He heard his father let out a sigh.

"It seems like the Nazis haven't finished making enough laws against the Jews yet," he began. "I went to work today and was told I couldn't be an accountant anymore."

"Why, Papa?"

Jakob let out a slight chuckle. "We can't be trusted with money, you know. Or pulling teeth. No Jew can be a dentist now either. _Oy_, what's next? No doctors either?"

David bowed his head. He knew what this meant. "I'll talk to _Herr_ Schuller tomorrow," he said. "See if he can let me work during the day."

"No, my son. You go to school tomorrow."

"But—"

"No, David!" Jakob leaned forward in his chair. "You need your education; you have your entire life to work. No, you go to school. I will find another job."

David drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around them, cradling himself. "I'm not a little boy, you know. We need the money. I can always go back to school—"

"David Starsky! You listen to me!" Jakob yelled as he stood up. "I say you go to school, you go to school. Now, there is some bread and cheese on the table—David!"

The heated call fell on David's back as he jumped up and ran to the front door. A second shout followed but by then he was already halfway down the staircase. Once he hit the street, David turned to the right, then left, but neither direction offered a suitable destination. He wanted to run, far enough away to get out of this place. Where he wasn't made fun of being a Jew at school, had enough money to buy new clothes, and could do whatever he wanted. As the snow started to fall heavily around him, David succumbed to the dismal reality of his life and sat down hard on the cement steps. He burrowed his head under his arms and slowly let the pain seep out. A few minutes later, he heard the sound of muffled footsteps on the landing behind him.

"What are you doing out here? Keeping the walkway clear of snow?" Jakob's voice was strong but not judgmental. He moved closer, and then David felt a hand on his shoulder. "Come inside, my child. It's not good for you to be here all alone."

With his head still buried, David sobbed, "I'm not a child. I'm almost sixteen!"

"Yes, yes. You are a man, but even a man respects his father." Jakob leaned over. Keeping his hand on David's shoulder, he used it to brace himself as he sat down beside him. "You know, if we never had hard times, we wouldn't be grateful for the good ones. Life—it gives, and then it takes. Your mother, she was a giver and I've tried to be like her. That's why I don't want to see you giving right now. I want for you to do the taking."

"But why, Papa?" David asked, raising his head. "If Momma always gave, why can't I?"

"_Wen der fater gibt men tsu zun, lichen baiden. Wen der zun gibt men tsu tati, vainen baiden_. There is laughter when a father gives to his son, but not when a son gives to the father."

David wiped a hand across his cheek. For the first time, he realized that every man had his pride. He had his, in wanting to be considered old enough to make his own decisions. And Papa had his. A parent trying to provide his son as much as he could with as little as he had. It wasn't fair, and it wasn't right, but it was what they had.

He looked into his father's eyes. In a way, David felt he was glimpsing a mirror image of himself, or at least who he'd like to be when he became a father.

Jakob placed his arm around David's shoulders. "Come. Let us go back inside before we both turn into snowmen."

For a moment, David wanted to stay seated on the steps, cuddled in his father's embrace. Somehow that felt better, even out in the cold, than returning to their dark apartment upstairs. But when Jakob squeezed his shoulder with a little more strength, David knew it was time to go. He brushed the snow off of his sleeves and stood back up, helping Jakob rise as well. Both men went back into the building, and back to facing an uncertain future.

* * *

November 9th, 1938

David glanced up at the clock above the shoe display. Almost six o'clock. He had a date with Hannah tonight, a very special date. For the past six months, he'd taken a small amount from his wages and used the money to purchase a gold ring, set with a small pearl—Hannah's birthstone. He was going to ask if she would become engaged to him. Hell, he was going to ask her to marry him. Engaged was only a way to postpone the actual event until next spring, when he would be eighteen and not need Jakob's permission to marry. While his father had nothing against Hannah, he'd told David several times that he shouldn't rush into something that would change his life. "Times are bad," he'd say. "Why don't you wait until they get better, then marry?"

The truth was, times were getting worse. Jakob was having increasing problems finding work and keeping it. All he knew was how to be a bookkeeper, and the few businesses still hiring Jews only wanted manual laborers. David wondered if his father didn't want to give his blessing because he was afraid of losing his son as a wage earner. If it came to that, David would find a way for them to stay together, even if he was married. Hannah would understand. Her father had died shortly after she was born and she seemed to enjoy Jakob's company when she came to visit. But for now, David just wanted to take one day at a time, and tonight was as far into the future as he wanted to contemplate.

Just as he was leaving the store, Kendrick nearly collided with him at the front door.

"What are you doing?" David asked, not sure what to make of his friend's sudden appearance.

Quickly glancing over both shoulders, Kendrick breathlessly replied, "I need to talk to you."

He took hold of David's arm and started to pull him out of the doorway.

"Wait! I'm on my way to see Hannah!" protested David.

"I said I need to talk to you!" Kendrick's grip tightened. So did the look on his face.

"Okay," David said as he stepped out of the way of some customers. "Talk."

"Not here." Kendrick took another look around. Nodding his head towards an alley, Kendrick said, "Over there, quickly."

David hesitantly followed, his stomach getting tighter with each step. Once they entered the alley, Kendrick carefully scanned the area from top to bottom.

"What is it? What are you afraid of?" David had noticed his friend wasn't wearing his Hitler Jugend uniform. For the last couple of years, there was hardly a day when he didn't have it on.

"You need to go home, right now," Kendrick announced. "Stay inside and don't come out until tomorrow morning."

"Are you kidding?" David started to push him away. "Hannah's expecting me tonight, I'm already…hey!"

Kendrick grabbed a shoulder and slammed him up against the brick wall. "Why are you always so damn stubborn? Can't you just listen for once!"

The edge in Kendrick's voice prevented David from trying to wrestle free. He felt a trickle of fear, but before he could say anything, Kendrick continued.

"They're going after Jews tonight. Homes, businesses, churches—" Hearing voices coming from the street, Kendrick suddenly hushed. They both watched as three men walked past, their attention focused on something else entirely. Turning back, Kendrick added, "Anything, or _anyone_, Jewish."

David pushed away, freeing himself. "Who are 'they'?" he snapped.

"Nazis."

The word hung in the still air, its meaning clear and ominous.

"And how do you know?" David cringed. It was a stupid question, he knew that. But the answer was completely unexpected.

"My group leader told me—a Jew killed a German diplomat in Paris."

"A Jew?" Kendrick nodded his head. David took a long look at the teenager, and asked, "Are you going to be with them?"

This time, Kendrick dropped his gaze. "Yes," he answered, "I have to. Everyone's been ordered to. Storm troopers, SS...everyone." He lifted his head. "I have to go; there isn't much time. Go home, now, and leave your lights off."

"I'm going to see Hannah."

"David!"

"Look! You've made your choice, and I'm making mine." He pushed past Kendrick and stopped. "I'll be alright," he said. "Thanks, for telling me."

David rushed out of the alley and down the street. But soon his head was swarming with indecision. It was getting harder and harder to trust anyone now. His continued friendship with Kendrick had been rough over the last few years. David knew what the Nazis thought about him, compared to Kendrick who was considered the perfect citizen for Hitler's new Germany. But he also understood what his friend was being forced into. After every weekly Youth meeting, David would wait anxiously until he saw Kendrick again, wondering whether the propagandists had finally succeeded in turning his best friend against him. So far, the two boys remained allies.

But as each month went by, changes for Jews were getting harder and harder to ignore—no more driver's licenses, nightly curfews, mandatory identity cards and, recently, what Jakob had feared earlier…Jewish doctors prohibited from practicing anymore. What freedoms would be left when everything was over with, David couldn't venture a guess. With his mind heavy with thoughts of what the Nazis had planned for tonight, David made his way to Hannah's, his hand clasped tightly around the ring in his pocket.

When he was about a block away, David could hear a roar of raised voices coming from around the next corner. Turning onto the next street, the sight of the large mob gathered in front of a government building made him stop in his tracks. Hundreds were there, many holding lit torches and some with signs that read "Annihilate the Jew!" and "Jews must die!" The crowd's attention seemed to be focused on a handful of men in uniform standing on top of the building's front steps. David's throat tightened as he made out, just barely, the handguns held by some of the leaders. _Scheisse, are they really going to kill us?_

Wanting to get to Hannah's now more than ever, David began to push through the thick mass of people. Almost halfway through, his progress was stopped as someone grabbed his arm and harshly spun him around.

"_Juden!_ You're a Jew!"

Frozen in shock, David just stared at the angry face. He didn't recognize the man, but his accusation had attracted the attention of others around them. David's panic rose as his captor kept yelling, forcing more people to turn their way.

"Everyone! Here is a Jew!"

David tried to break free from the vise-like grip, willing to take his chances escaping on foot. Unable to wrench loose, he did the only other thing that came to mind.

"You're wrong! I'm not a Jew!"

"Filthy liar! I've seen you going into the synagogue."

"No! I'm not!" Feeling he had nothing to lose, David shouted, "Prove it!"

The man drew back, the hate in his eyes still glaring as his gaze drifted down to David's groin.

Davis stomach turned as a sick feeling washed over him. _Oh God, no! He wouldn't show everyone…not here!_

Another man's voice broke the standoff. "Come, Henryk! We have better things to do than mess with this piece of garbage."

One by one, the people around them started to move off, following the mob. The man let go of him, but not before he viciously threw David to the ground. As a final insult, he drew back his foot and landed a hard kick on the back of David's leg.

Although in pain, David quickly got back up. He wasn't going to let himself become an easy target for someone else's boot. Keeping his face lowered, he headed back the way he'd come, as fast as his shaky legs and throbbing knee would take him. There was no way he could make it to Hannah's tonight. Right now, he just wanted to get home to Papa and hide in the safety of his own house.

Behind him, he heard the crash of breaking glass and then a woman's scream. David gasped as, across the street, an older Hasidic man was struck in the face by a German soldier. As more blows landed, the people just stood by and watched, some even yelling for the troopers to hit him harder. The man fell to the ground, covering his head with his arms in a futile attempt to protect himself. David's focus shifted back to the crowd, desperately seeking someone who might intervene. But there was no such person, and the savage beating continued. A particularly vicious strike to the man's head sent a spray of blood onto one of the soldiers. Instead of it slowing him down, he became infuriated. More blows landed on the fallen Jew, hitting every part of the man's body and causing more blood to gush out.

Behind the attackers, other men were using clubs to break the windows of a store. Once several had been broken, a flaming torch was tossed in. Within a minute, the fire began to flicker out from the jagged openings, frantically reaching its way up to the residential second floor. David took one more look at the old man on the ground. His body had grown still, no longer flinching with each hit.

David started to run. Even when he was far enough away that he couldn't hear the angry crowd anymore, a voice inside his head kept screaming, _"I'm not a Jew! I'm not a Jew!"_ Faster and faster he ran, but the shame he was running from pursued him like a wild and ferocious beast. He couldn't stop. Not for a second. If he did, he'd be overcome by this dark monster of guilt and by the countless generations of his ancestors, all wanting to tear him to shreds for denouncing his faith.

Reaching his apartment, he stumbled up the stairs and burst through the front door. He caught sight of Jakob sitting in the living room, a look of panic immediately flashing from his eyes. David's momentum carried him into the kitchen where he slapped the light switch, instantly sending the small apartment into darkness. As David collapsed onto the floor, his father's voice cut through the inky room, quickly approaching him.

"David! Where have you been? What has happened?" Jakob shouted, kneeling on the floor beside him.

Grabbing a few more lungfuls of air, David stared at him. "They're killing Jews, Papa," he wheezed out. "They're killing…_us_."

.

.

**Chapter 4**

**.**

Kendrick slowly walked down the empty street, studying every damaged building. The sun hadn't risen yet, but the pale light of daybreak was starting to seep through the darkened metropolis. Littered with debris, the sidewalk crunched beneath his feet with every step. Small specks of fires still burnt within demolished store fronts, their flickering flames made brighter by the reflection off the glass-strewn roads. Everywhere, the smell of smoke and a thick haze permeated the quiet air.

Kendrick hadn't returned home until well past midnight, but sleep had eluded him. At the first signs of dawn, he'd gotten dressed and quietly slipped out of the apartment. All night long, he had tried to stay in Hannah's neighborhood, worried that David might be recognized and targeted. Several Jews had been rounded up and taken away by the SS, their fate unknown. A few, he'd heard, had also been killed. Even though he was now an _Oberscharführer_**, **or Senior Squad Leader, there were many things about the more militaristic _Schutzstaffel_ that remained a mystery.

Eventually, he arrived at David's apartment. It was still early in the morning and, to his relief, not many people were out. Kendrick had to be careful when visiting David while in uniform. If someone he knew saw him, there might be questions asked—ones that he didn't have answers for.

Entering the building, he went up to the second floor and down the hall to the last apartment. Once he reached David's front door, Kendrick paused and took a deep breath. He raised his hand and softly knocked. After hearing the faint sound of footsteps approach from inside the apartment, the door cracked open, just enough so Kendrick could see who was inside.

"What do you want?" Jakob asked, his voice low and tight.

"Is David here, _Herr _Starsky?"

The man gave him a long look. "He's still asleep. I'll tell him you came by."

As the door started to close, Kendrick threw out a hand to stop it.

"I need to see him," he begged.

"Papa—it's alright. Let him in." David's voice drifted out from behind the door.

Jakob hesitated for a moment, then turned towards his son. "This is not safe anymore, for either of you. Now tell him 'goodbye'."

Kendrick caught a glimpse of his friend through the partially opened door. David moved closer to his father. "Let him come in, please. He tried to warn me."

Jakob sighed and moved back, allowing Kendrick to enter, then closed the door behind him. Kendrick noticed that David was still wearing the same clothes from the day before. His face appeared pale and dark circles hung under each eye.

"We have some tea, no coffee. Would you like a cup?" Jakob's offer was quick and tense.

"No, thank you." Kendrick answered. Turning to David, he said, "I tried to find you last night. Are you alright?"

"Does he look alright!"

"Papa…"

Jakob stepped in front of Kendrick. "Tell me, how many Jews did you attack last night? How many buildings did you set on fire?" he demanded.

"Papa, stop!" David approached his father and placed a hand on his shoulder. "He's not like them."

"Not like them!" Jakob's eyes wandered over Kendrick's uniform, then settled on the Swastika arm band. "Then your eyes are blind, my son," he announced.

Jakob eyed Kendrick with one last look of disdain. He left and went into his bedroom, slamming the door so hard the whole apartment shook.

David had watched him leave and now sheepishly looked at Kendrick. "He's upset. After I got home, one of his cousins came by. He said the Nazis burned our temple, along with all of the books and scrolls." David' added, "He also told us that dozens of Jews were taken away. No one knows where they went."

"I'm…I'm sorry about what happened…to those people. I just wanted to see if you were alright. Did you see Hannah?"

"No, I never got to her house," David said in a low tone. "This isn't a good time, Kendrick. Maybe you shouldn't come over here anymore."

The last words hit Kendrick hard. David had every right to ask him to go, considering what the uniform must mean to him now. Kendrick wished he could do something to lessen the growing amount of tension between him and David's father—show him what was truly in his heart. But as Kendrick stood uncomfortably in the man's living room, he couldn't even think of anything fitting to say to David. With a resigned sigh, Kendrick stuck his hands in his pockets and headed for the door. Before he stepped out into the hallway, though, he stopped.

"David, you're my best friend. My parents, they've given me a lot and this is what they want for me." He paused and studied his friend's face. "I have to think about my future, you know. I don't agree with everything the youth leaders tell us, but…"

"But you and your friends still march around in your stupid uniforms, yelling 'Sieg Heil!' and 'Kill the Jews!'"

Kendrick was speechless. A part of him wanted to knock David across the chin, the other half wanted to turn tail and run away before the hurt inside broke free. He settled for something in between.

"You have no idea what it's like for me! I'm in charge of dozens of recruits and I have a lot of responsibility. They're telling me I could easily become a _Wehrmacht_ officer because I'm a good leader." Looking into David's eyes, Kendrick couldn't leave it at that. "David, I don't hate you, I could never hate you. I know you're a Jew, but that's not what I see when I..."

"Of course I'm a Jew!" David yelled, stepping closer. "How can you _not_ see that? Don't you watch in class when they call me up front, and use those shitty tongs on my head? Measuring. Telling me I'm not an Aryan?" David stopped and stared hotly at him. "So…tell me," he continued. "What _do you_ see?"

"I see someone I've known all my life," Kendrick answered. "Someone that used to be happy for me because he was my best friend. That's what I see."

The fire in David's eyes cooled. "We were kids back then—now, it's different."

"No, David. Times are different, but we're still the same people."

"No. You're wrong—you're not supposed to like me anymore. I'm just filthy swine, infesting the earth, right? I mean, if you touch me, your dick will fall off. Isn't that what your instructors tell you?"

"Why are you saying all these things?" Kendrick demanded. "Do you _want_ me to hate you? Would you be happy if _everyone_ hated you?"

"Everyone _does_ hate me! And I don't even understand why!" David's gaze drifted to one side. "I saw a man killed last night, for nothing. A Jew. He was just attacked and…beaten to death. He never even tried to defend himself."

"I didn't know…"

"You know why I wanted to go to Hannah's last night?" David interrupted, his voice shaking. "I was going to ask her to marry me. I had a ring and everything."

"You didn't tell me you'd gotten a ring. Let me see it."

David hung his head. "I lost it."

"You lost it? How?"

"Probably when I got thrown down on the street."

"Who did that?"

"Does it matter?" David yelled, raising his voice. "It's gone! It took me months to save up that money. Months! All those times I went without…oh, what does it matter?"

Kendrick felt a tug on his heart. It made sense now. The excuses David gave when they'd gone out and he'd declined to buy something. David's employer barely paid him anything to begin with, and with Jakob not having a steady job anymore, the loss of Hannah's ring must have been excruciating.

He lifted a hand and placed it on David's shoulder. "I'm sorry, _kumpel_. I wish there was something I could do."

"What have you got to be sorry for? It wasn't your fault," he said sarcastically. Then, in a more disappointed tone, added, "I'll just have to find something else." David walked over to the nearest window and pulled the shade back. With a slight toss of his head, he announced, "It's getting light outside, now. Papa doesn't want me to go to school today so I'm going back to bed."

Kendrick glanced through the same window. David was right; the sun had risen turning the grey sky to light blue. "If I find out what happened to those people, I'll let you know," Kendrick remarked.

David nodded his head.

"See you soon?"

Another nod. "I'll be working…come by the store. I guess it should still be standing, huh? The owner is a Catholic."

Kendrick bowed his head and stared at his boots. "Tell your father I said 'goodbye."

Kendrick let himself out and shut the door behind him. Once he got down to the street, he stopped and looked around the neighborhood. On the surface, everything seemed fine; the buildings on this side of town had been spared by the mob. But somehow it just didn't feel right. Suddenly, he realized what was different. It was like watching David a little while ago. His friend still looked the same, but inside there'd been a change—as if the part of him that gave off energy and exuberance had died. Kendrick squinted and glanced over at the sun.

Anyone not knowing better could've sworn this was a beautiful day.

* * *

David lay in bed and stared up through the dark haze. He'd closed the curtains and tried to go to sleep, but last night's events, coupled with losing Hannah's ring, had kept his mind spinning in turmoil. He wanted to go and see her, but that was impossible. Any Jew venturing out on the street today would be asking for trouble.

He wondered if she was at home and safe. As a Jew, Hannah faced the same risks as he did. He tried to draw comfort from the fact that she would probably know why he didn't come last night. He just hoped she wasn't lying in her bed, worried about him.

Not ready to face the many realities yet ahead of him, the least of which was finding a suitable replacement for the ring, he closed his eyes. But then a soft noise filtered into the room, interrupting his attempts to go to sleep. At first he wasn't sure what it was, but the sound quickly became recognizable. A woman's voice. David jumped out of bed and raced out of his room, heading for the front door. Flinging it open, he gazed in disbelief at the person standing there.

"Hannah! What are you doing here?"

The young woman stepped inside and instantly threw her arms around him. "Oh, you are safe!" she cried.

He squeezed her tightly and laid his cheek into her silky, thick hair. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he muttered. Locked together, he held onto her as if for dear life, cherishing every rise of her chest as it pushed against his. For a long moment, nothing was said. It didn't have to be. Every thought that passed through his mind centered on the love he felt for this woman. When they separated, David cupped a hand under her chin and gently tilted it upward. "I tried to come last night, but…you know what happened, don't you?"

"Yes," she answered. "That's why I had to see you. I needed to know that you were well."

David shook his head and pulled her in against his chest. She had risked a great deal coming to see him, and at the moment, only his love for her outweighed his relief. He held her in a tight embrace, and let her fragrant smell work its way deep into his lungs.

Separating himself, he said, "Come into the kitchen and sit down. Would you like some tea?"

"Only if you're having some yourself."

He felt himself grin. That was Hannah. Always willing to share whenever she could. Her family wasn't rich. They were poor, like his, but would lend someone their last dollar if they needed it. Papa would do the same, only he'd charge a little interest for his trouble.

After setting the kettle on the stove to boil, David took two cups out of the cupboard and set them on the counter.

"How is it outside?" he asked, feeling he already knew the answer.

"Many stores are damaged. There is so much broken glass on the sidewalks, it's hard to keep from slipping," she replied. "I never realized there were so many Jewish businesses. Those poor owners, I doubt if anyone is going to be arrested. They'll have to pay for fixing everything out of their own pockets." She paused, then asked, "Have you seen Kendrick yet?"

"He came over early this morning." David noticed the uneasy look on her face, and sat down at the table. "He's not feeling good about what happened. He actually warned me about last night, right before I left the store to come see you."

"He knew?" she exclaimed. "He told you and then…what? Did he go and break windows, too?"

"Hannah," David said defensively, "he had to join them. He didn't have a choice."

She dropped her gaze onto the table. "I'm sorry. I know he is your friend."

David let out a sigh. He got up and turned the heat off under the boiling kettle. After pouring the hot liquid into the teapot, he returned and placed it on the table.

"We don't have any sugar," he said, staring at his empty cup.

"That's alright," Hannah replied. Reaching across the table, she laid her hand on his arm. "I shouldn't have accused him. I'm glad that he at least told you. Did you go home then, after you saw him?"

David squirmed in his seat. "Not right away, but as soon as I saw there was going to be trouble, I came home," he replied, reasoning that his answer wasn't really a lie.

"Well, I'm just glad that you didn't get hurt." Hannah withdrew her hand and laid it in her lap. "My parents are scared about what this means," she admitted in a tense voice. "The Nazis have never liked the Jews, but so far it's only been hateful words thrown at us. Now it's bricks and lighted torches. We heard that some men were killed, others taken away. Is it true?"

Obviously, Hannah had heard the same stories. For once, David wished he could lie and tell her that those inconceivable events were just rumors and nothing else. But they weren't. He'd seen the most horrific ones happen with his own eyes.

"It's all true," he replied.

"_Mein Gott_!" she exclaimed in a stressed whisper. "How do I tell my family something like this?"

"They're strong people, and so are you. We all are. I'm sure this won't last very long. People will learn about what happened last night and they'll force the government to stop."

"Do you really think so?"

David studied the hope-filled eyes, and for a moment, he almost believed it himself. Even though Nazis were in control, there must be other, more conscientious people who would voice their disgust over what had happened. But whose faces were those that watched an elderly man beaten to death? How many were community leaders? Catholics? Protestants? Righteous people of any faith? A nauseating rush of despair went through him. What if everyone believed Jews were a race of degenerates, destined for annihilation?

Quickly calming his fears, he put on his most convincing face. "Yes, I do."

* * *

The sound of the front door opening startled David. He'd been sitting in the kitchen, looking through one of his school books. As Jakob appeared in the doorway, he seemed just as surprised to see his son as David was to see him.

"What are you doing here? Why aren't you in school?"

"I got kicked out. Why are you home so early?"

Jakob closed the door and came into the kitchen. He placed his satchel on the table, and stared at David. "What happened at school?"

David shrugged his shoulders a little. "Nothing. They had me and Fitchl go to the headmaster's office. He told us we were being expelled."

"But why? Your grades, they were good, no? You're supposed to graduate next spring!"

"I know that, Papa!" David bit his tongue. He didn't mean any disrespect by raising his voice. Casting his eyes downward, he softly said, "He told us Jews weren't allowed in school anymore."

A long moment of silence passed. David hesitantly raised his head and peered at Jakob. He hadn't seen his father look like that since mother died. Deciding to change the subject, he asked, "So what are you doing home? I thought you said this morning you'd be working until this evening."

Jakob's shoulders dropped. He pulled out a chair and sat down beside David.

"I don't have a job anymore. My employer doesn't want anything to happen to his store because he has a Jew working for him."

A push of emotions started to well up inside of David. Disappointment, anger, hurt, hopelessness. The strongest, despair, brought with it the sting of tears. They hardly had any money left as it was. What if his own boss told him the same thing when he went to work? Both he and Jakob had planned to use their next paychecks to buy some groceries. Other than a few cans of beans, there was nothing edible in the house. David thought about the lost ring. If he still had it, would he sell it so they could buy some food?

"David, I've been thinking…" Jakob's voice interrupted. "Maybe we should go and stay with your Uncle Emir."

"Uncle Emir?" he yelped. "He lives in Poland! That's over two days of traveling from here!"

"I know how far it is, which is why we should go there. The farther we get from Germany, the better."

"Papa, I don't want to go to Poland. Germany is our home."

"Our home is anyplace the two of us are together. Besides, I grew up there and it is no different from Germany...other than there are no Nazis. It will be fine, you'll see. Uncle Emir has a big house."

David leaned back in his chair and sulked. When Papa's mind was made up, there was no use in fighting him. For now, he could only cling to the small hope that Uncle Emir would say no. Since David didn't have anything to do until he left for work, he got up and went to grab his coat.

"Where are you going?" Jakob asked.

"Out. I need some fresh air."

"David…don't tell Kendrick about what we discussed. Is that clear?"

Pausing by the front door, David considered his father's request. As he put his coat on, he said, "If we're moving away, then he needs to know."

"David!"

"What Papa? The Nazis want us out of Germany, so what's the difference if he knows or not? I keep telling you, he's not like them." Seeing the torn look on Jakob's face, David remarked, "I won't tell him about Uncle Emir, just that we're leaving."

With that, he slipped out of the apartment and hurried down to the street. Kendrick wasn't the only one he had to share the bad news with.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Hello everyone, thanks again for your interest in this story. In case you're wondering, I haven't forgotten about our other boys...they're still very much in this story. S&H are just listening to this tale right now but they'll be back soon. Here's the next chapter, enjoy!

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**Chapter 5**

For the umpteenth time, David stopped a passerby in front of Hannah's apartment and asked for the time. He'd been waiting there for hours, hoping to catch her coming home from school. There wasn't much time left, though, before he had to be at work. Finally, he caught sight of Hannah crossing the street, her lavender blue coat standing out richly amongst the greys and browns of the other pedestrians. She immediately saw him, too, and they ran towards one another, each threading their way through the thick crowd.

"I'm so glad to see you," Hannah exclaimed, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in school?"

David hugged her firmly, then, as they parted, said, "I got expelled today. Only Jews had to leave."

Her eyes briefly dipped down. "I also got dismissed," she said. "So were seven others in my class. That's where I was before I came home. We were trying to see if someone knew of a Jewish school nearby. If we find one, would you want to come?"

David could feel his expression change, and by the look on Hannah's face, she seemed to know that he had other bad news.

"Papa wants to move to Poland," he said. "One of his brothers lives there, near Warsaw. He's going to write him and ask if he'll take us in."

"Oh, David…" Tears started to fall from her eyes. "What about us? I don't think I have any relatives in Poland."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about." David stopped so he could swallow the lump in his throat. "Last week, just before Kristallnacht…I was wondering…" Trying to calm himself, he reached down and took hold of Hannah's hand. "I love you Hannah, very much, and I never want to be without you. I don't have much to offer—I don't even have a ring—but I want you to be my wife. Will you marry me?"

He stood as still as a statue, waiting for an answer that could either make his life as rich as a king's, or crush it into nothing but dirt. He didn't have to wait long.

"I'd be honored to become your wife, David Joseph."

Despite the people walking by, who were no doubt oblivious to the event taking place right in front of them, David leaned forward and gave Hannah her first kiss as his fiancée.

.

Later that afternoon, David wasn't surprised when Kendrick came by the store. Usually, they only met once or twice a week, during David's lunch break, and would spend the time catching up on current events. But since the devastating night the week before, Kendrick had dropped in nearly every day.

"Hi, David."

"I hope you didn't bring me any homework," David said matter-of-factly.

Kendrick's smile faded quickly. "I heard you got dismissed."

"Well, that's probably a more polite way of saying 'expelled'."

The blond fidgeted a little, then remarked, "Is there somewhere else you can go to school? You're only a few months away from graduating."

"You mean someplace where I can be treated like everyone else? And only sit in the back of the classroom because I want to?"

"Why are you mad at me? I'm sorry you were kicked out, but none of it was my fault."

David stopped his sweeping and stared into the light blue eyes. Since they were kids, if Kendrick was right about something, his face would grow soft and his eyes practically glisten like crystal. The only hardness would be the edge in his voice. David studied the sincere expression, then moved his examination downward. At least Kendrick was wearing regular clothes—there'd be no need to try and separate the friend that David cared for from the uniform he hated.

"Alright, I hear you." David glanced around the store and decided it was a good time for a break. "C'mon," he said, setting the broom down. "I've got something I need to tell you."

They went to the back of the store and down a short hallway. An open door to the left led into a small storeroom. Near the rear wall were two wooden crates, sitting end to end. After checking one last time to make sure they were alone, David hoisted himself up onto one while Kendrick sat on the other.

"I have some good and bad news," David began. "What do you want to hear first?"

"The good news," Kendrick replied with no hesitation.

"I asked Hannah to marry me…and she said 'yes'."

Kendrick's face lit up like a glowing sun. "David, that's wonderful! So when is the date?"

"We don't have a date yet," he answered solemnly. "I barely had time to talk to her before I needed to be at work. I've been thinking, though. Unless Papa can find another job, we won't have enough money. Hannah and I need a place to live, and she also deserves a ring…"

A long moment passed. "I thought you were going to tell me the good news first," Kendrick noted. "By the way you look, I'm not sure I want to hear the bad news."

David came out of his slump and smiled. "No, I'm happy…Hannah's happy. I just needed something to look forward to. It's been nothing but bad news for a long time."

"I understand. If the girl you love cares about you, that's what life is all about. I'm very happy for you," Kendrick offered. "So…what's the bad news?"

David stared at him, still debating how much he should say. Jakob would understand him telling Hannah about their plans to move, but he wouldn't be so sympathetic if David told Kendrick the same thing.

"I won't be living here much longer," he edgily announced. "Papa wants us to move to Poland."

The look on Kendrick's face was worse than he had anticipated. "Where in Poland?" the blond asked, his voice breaking.

"About a two-day journey from here. We have some relatives there, and Papa thinks it'll be better for us."

He kept studying Kendrick, unsure what was going through his friend's mind. Finally, after a long pause, Kendrick asked, "Would you write to me, if I wrote you?"

That was a hard question to answer. Jakob would never want him to give out Uncle Emir's address, especially to someone that could potentially place it in the wrong hands. A solution suddenly came to mind. "You could write and mail the letter to me in care of general delivery."

"You don't know your relative's address?" he asked, looking confused.

David grimaced. "I don't think Papa wants anyone to know where we're going."

"You mean he doesn't want _me_ to know." Kendrick slid off the crate, his eyes burning furiously. "Ever since I joined the Hitler Youth, you've treated me like I'm the enemy. For once, you should at least try to pretend you're an adult, instead of hiding behind your father's coattails." Turning to leave, he added, "I hope you have a nice trip. At least you'll know where I'll be."

"Kendrick, wait!" David hollered as he jumped down. "It's hard, okay? It's hard to see you in that uniform. I know it's something you're proud of…but sometimes, I don't see _you_…just the swastika. And it scares me."

"Why?" Kendrick snapped. "Because you don't believe anything I say, or you just don't trust me?"

David refused to let Kendrick's hostile stare stop him from answering. "I'm sure they expect you to follow orders, right? Well, what if you had to arrest me, huh? What would you do?"

"I'd think of something," Kendrick answered weakly. "I'd at least try to make sure you weren't hurt."

"But what if you had no choice? I can't change who I am…" David swallowed hard, knowing he'd tried to do just that barely a week ago. "But you shouldn't put yourself in danger because you're my friend." Feeling the inevitable anguish rising up, David lowered his head. "Maybe with me gone, you'll be safer, too."

Softly, Kendrick said, "I don't want you to go."

David looked up, then took a step closer. He slowly raised one arm, then the other, and embraced Kendrick. He sighed thankfully when his hug was firmly returned.

"We'll make a promise, okay?" David vowed. "That when things get better, we'll pick a place to live where we don't have to ever be afraid of being friends."

"It's a deal," Kendrick said, breaking away.

"I should get back to work now. I'll let you know when we'll be leaving."

"Okay, I'll see you later, then. Goodbye."

"'Bye," David said, and watched him go. After taking a moment to compose, David left the storeroom. He grabbed his broom and went back to sweeping the floor, but his mind was far from work.

Would his friendship with Kendrick be the same if they lived in a different place; where circumstances beyond their control weren't forming an impenetrable wall between them? For as long as they'd known each other, there'd always been occasional comments from passersby, and those odd, sometimes disgusted looks. David had been waiting all his life for something to change—for people to accept that two boys who should hate each other could be friends instead. But as much as he and Kendrick had tried subconsciously to prove everyone wrong, fate kept transpiring against them. Sadly, David wondered whether they'd ever get the chance to honor their promise.

* * *

A month later, the last days of Hanukkah were drawing to a close. Things were going well, at least financially, as Jakob had found a good job at a local factory. However, David and Hannah's _kiddushin_ had been received coolly by their parents. Although they were happy for the two, neither felt the time was right for them to become fully pledged partners. In place of a ring, David had given Hannah a silver coin and promised that he'd satisfy all of his obligations to her before they completed their _nisuin_, or nuptials. Secretly, he was looking forward to the completion of a particularly important one—having sex. All he needed was the right time and place.

When David returned home from work, Jakob was sitting at the table, holding a letter in his hands.

Guessing who the mail was from, David anxiously asked, "So what did Uncle Emir say?"

"He says that, contrary to what everyone thinks, he wasn't great uncle Alphonse's favorite nephew."

David nervously chuckled. The whole family had always believed that Uncle Emir inherited a large fortune from the family's only tycoon.

"Go on, Papa."

"Well, he says that things in Poland aren't all that good, but since there are no Nazis, then yes, it is better we come there."

David's heart sank. His thoughts centered on Hannah, and how this move could wreck their future. "So, when are we leaving?" he muttered.

Jakob put the letter down. "Come, sit down, my son." When David got seated, Jakob remarked, "You don't want to move, do you?" David shook his head. "I was your age when your grandfather moved his family to Germany. I didn't want to leave the only home I knew, either. I thought it was so easy for my father, to just pick up everything and move. Now, I know better." Jakob touched the letter again, then continued. "You're my only son, and soon you will be a husband and giving me my first grandchild. But you haven't yet stood under a canopy, and even though Hannah has consented to be your wife, I'm still your papa."

David let out a sigh. He knew what Jakob was going to say.

"We cannot live here in peace. You know this. I have even thought about going to America, to your mama's birthplace—and you know how I feel about her sisters."

"America?" David didn't know how to take this bit of news. Jakob had only met Mama's family once and always said he never wanted to see them again. For him to even consider going there certainly meant they were in trouble.

"Don't worry; we can barely afford to make it across the border to Poland, much less across the Atlantic Ocean. But here is what I want to tell you. Uncle Emir has offered to provide your Hannah a place to stay. He also wants me to tell you, 'Mazel Tov!'"

Too stunned to move, David just sat there. "Hannah can come with us?" he finally managed to say.

"I think it will take some work convincing her parents, but legally, she is your wife and she should stay with her future husband."

"Oh, Papa!" David shot up from his chair and dashed over to the coat rack.

"David! What are you doing?"

Throwing on his coat, David replied, "I want to tell Hannah the good news. She'll be so happy."

"But son, it's after curfew. You can't go tonight. Wait, just until morning. The news will still be good."

With a heavy thud, David fell back against the door. A strict curfew of ten o'clock had been the newest law enacted against Jews in the city. It was so new, he hadn't had a chance to get used to it yet. Maybe it was for the best tonight. By the time he got to Hannah's, the trolley cars would've quit running and he'd have to walk home. Accepting his rotten luck, he slipped his coat back off and returned to the table.

"When will we be moving?"

A smile lit Jakob's face. "Fortunately for you, not until the weather changes."

"You mean, not until Spring?"

"My job should last until then, and we will need the money." In a softer voice, he said, "You should know, we won't be able to take very much with us. Only what you can carry, _gelibteh_."

David nodded his head. "I understand. I don't have that much."

Jakob smiled, but in a sad way. David knew why. It was the same reason why he couldn't be a righteous husband to Hannah yet. He found himself smiling at the irony. The Nazis always symbolized the Jews as money-hungry mongrels while, in reality, David only wished he knew a rich Jew.

* * *

The winter months had dragged by slowly, bringing with them changes in the neighborhood. David rarely saw anyone he knew to be a Jew come into the store now, and the few Jewish businesses that were still open never seemed to have any Gentile customers. It was as though everyone had chosen to be on one side or the other. Even his talks with Kendrick had changed. Things that happened at the youth meetings were never mentioned, although he'd still show up in his uniform every so often. There'd been a gradual changing of insignia on Kendrick's shirt, but David wasn't familiar with what military title they indicated. He could only assume that Kendrick was moving up in rank. One day in late February, though, his friend came to see him at home.

"What are you doing here?" David exclaimed, after opening the front door.

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah, I'm just here by myself." He waited until Kendrick entered then shut the door.

"I went to the store, but they said you'd gone home. You don't look very good; are you sick?"

David nodded his head. Actually, 'sick' was an understatement. Right now though, he was thankful that whatever was waging war with his stomach had finally begun to purge itself from just one exit instead of two. "I think I ate something bad last night. I've been running to the bathroom every few minutes. I hope Papa's not sick. He can't leave the assembly line whenever he wants to." He padded over to the couch and grabbed the blanket off of it. Throwing it around his shoulders, he said, "I don't know if we've got any tea or not. We were almost out a couple of days ago."

"Don't worry, I'm not thirsty." Kendrick took a quick look around the kitchen.

"Are you hungry?" David asked tentatively, remembering there wasn't much to offer.

Kendrick turned and faced David again. "Maybe you should see a doctor."

Pulling the blanket tighter around him, David replied, "I'll be alright. I'm sure it's nothing. Besides, there aren't any Jewish doctors nearby…" David bit his tongue. There were doctors that still practiced, illegally, in the community, but their hidden clinics had to stay that way.

If Kendrick sensed that David was trying to hide something, he didn't show it. "I've got some news," he began. "You want to sit down?"

"Okay," David said. He grabbed the hanging ends of the blanket and sat down at the table.

Kendrick sat down next to him. "I'm going to Berlin in two weeks," he started. "I'll be at an academy there for officers in the Hitler Jugend."

David sat motionless, not wanting to believe what he'd just heard. He studied his friend, hoping for some clue as to what he should say. Kendrick's voice had remained calm and steady, but his facial expression showed something entirely different. In fact, he seemed on the brink of tears.

"How long will you be gone?" David asked.

Kendrick hesitated, then seemed to come out of his own mental haze. "Probably until the summer," he said, "and then I'll get my assignment."

"Your assignment?"

"Where I'll be stationed."

The full impact of why Kendrick had come suddenly hit. In all likelihood, David wouldn't be seeing him for a very long time—maybe, even, never again.

Before the news could sink down into his gut and wreak even more havoc, David jumped up, letting the blanket fall off him. He dashed upstairs to his bedroom, intent on doing the one thing that could ease this unwelcomed reality. Kendrick yelled out his name, but David quickly found what he was looking for and returned back down to the kitchen. He scribbled an address on the piece of paper then, after a second thought, wrote Uncle Emir's name. He slid the note across to Kendrick.

"This is my uncle's address," explained David. "He lives just outside of Warsaw. When you write, don't put your name on the envelope; Papa may not give it to me."

Kendrick picked up the paper. With a grateful smile, he folded the note and stuck it in his shirt pocket. "How about Rick Harpo?"

"Who?"

"Rick…short for Kendrick. And Harpo, for Harpo Marx."

David returned the smile with a big one of his own. "That'll be perfect…Rick."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

As always, thanks for the interest in this story!

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**Chapter 6**

**.**

The last two weeks had flown by. David and Kendrick tried to make the most of whatever free time they could find, but the dreaded day had finally arrived. Earlier, for a last get together, they'd agreed to meet at a small café. When Hannah had asked if she could come, David didn't think he could possibly love her more.

Now, on this particular March afternoon, her presence had so far provided the only bright spot and the only one capable of keeping the conversation going at their table.

"So Kendrick, is anyone else in your group traveling to Berlin with you?"

"Two other section leaders, Fritz and George. They're a little older than me." Kendrick took one last sip of beer, emptying the glass he'd been nursing for the past half hour.

David lifted his own mug, and realized it was also empty—just like his feelings today. Not finding anything to say, he stayed silent and glanced up at the blue and white Bavarian banners hanging from the ceiling's rafters.

"I've never been to Berlin. Have you, David?" Hannah asked.

Pulled from his gazing, he said, "Once. When my mother was still alive, she took me on a trip there to visit some art museums. It's a very big city."

When silence once more settled in, Hannah took the lead again.

"You know, there's a very nice-looking boutique across the street. Why don't I see what the latest fashions are and let you two have some time alone?"

She laid a reassuring hand on David's shoulder and, just before leaving, gave Kendrick a warm smile.

Watching Hannah make her way over to the shop, Kendrick said, "She's a nice _Fräulein_, David. I'm sure she'll be a wonderful wife. You're very lucky."

"Hannah is special, and she's not afraid to say what she thinks…regardless of what_** I **_think."

That finally brought a smile to Kendrick's face, but it faded all too soon. Letting go of a sigh, David said, "We've only got another hour before you need to be at the train station, and I'm sure your parents want to spend some time with you. We should say what we want to say."

"Okay, you go first."

A little unprepared, David decided to just let his heart speak. "I was trying to figure out how many years, to the day, we've known each other. I couldn't come up with an exact number, but I think it's been twelve years, six months and thirteen days."

"You just made that up, didn't you?" Kendrick pressed.

Smirking, David admitted, "Okay, but I'm sure it's close. Anyway, that's a long time, over half of our lives. But what I can't seem to figure out is, will that be all the time we'll ever have?" For the first time in their friendship, David needed Kendrick to lie to him. To say that he'd only be gone for a few weeks and would soon be back living in the same town again.

"I don't want it to be," Kendrick solemnly said, "but I've got my future pulling me in one direction and you're being pulled in another. I heard someone say the other day that if you care about something and let it go, that it'll come back to you…if it was meant to be. I'd like to think of our friendship that way."

"How long do you think it'll be before we'll see each other again?"

Kendrick shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know," he replied. "No matter how long it is, I won't forget about you."

"I won't forget you either," David declared. He glanced at the half-eaten sandwich on his plate. He wished he had the appetite to finish it, especially since Kendrick had insisted on paying, but he just couldn't. Physically, he was drained. There was hardly enough energy left in his body to simply keep breathing. Emotionally, though, the floodgates were bulging at the seams. Forcing himself to look up, David said, "Hannah wanted us to go with you to the station, but…"

"Yeah, I know."

There wasn't anything left to be said now, other than 'goodbye'. Feeling a heavy load on his shoulders, David slowly rose and slipped on his jacket. Kendrick did the same and they both walked silently across the street where they joined Hannah.

.

It took fifteen minutes to get to the bus stop; David barely remembered the walk. As they waited on the sidewalk, he wished there was some magical switch to turn so everything would freeze. He didn't realize how distressed he must've looked until Hannah squeezed his hand. Pulling himself together, he watched numbly as Hannah said her goodbyes and wished Kendrick good luck. She even gave him a small peck on the cheek, something David was sure his friend appreciated. But now it was his turn. This was it.

Kendrick offered him his hand, and with a firm grasp, David took hold of it, but it wasn't enough. As if on cue, both raised their arms and tightly hugged each other.

"Don't believe everything they tell you about us, sometimes we can be even worse," David quietly joked in the blond's ear. He needed to say something before the moment plunged into total despair. The squeal of tires braking behind them forced the two to let go as Kendrick's bus pulled up to the stop.

Giving his friend one final look, David mouthed 'goodbye.' To have said it out loud would've made their separation permanent, and there _had_ to be a next time. Kendrick stared back at him, his face a mixture of sadness and acceptance. He gave a half-hearted smile, and disappeared inside the bus. With a loud discharge of smoke, the vehicle chugged away, leaving David and Hannah in a cloud of smelly diesel fumes.

David took a couple of steps, but suddenly stopped, unable to move. He didn't want to cry, but his emotional dams were finally falling apart. Hannah nudged up beside him and grasped his hand tightly in hers. She didn't say anything, perhaps knowing there were no words capable of easing his pain. When he finally pulled the two broken halves of his heart together and could shuffle forward again, Hannah led him back to her apartment. Until they got there, neither separated nor spoke.

* * *

"David, watch where you're going!" Jakob cried out from the top of the stairs.

David was struggling to hang on to his end of the china cabinet. He and another man had managed to get the heavy piece down the building's narrow staircase, and now they were almost out to the antique dealer's truck. This was the last piece of furniture, other than Jakob's old recliner which was still up in the apartment. David took a deep breath and felt every muscle strain as he helped lift the cabinet and set it onto the truck's wooden bed. He let out a grateful gasp as he finally caught his breath and wiped the sweat off his forehead.

"So, _Herr_ Schmitz," Jakob said, approaching the dealer, "you have both the dresser and the china cabinet. Our agreement was for a hundred marks, yes?"

David stepped closer to the pair. He could only hope Schmitz would stick to his price, little though it was.

"Yes, _Herr_ Starsky. Here you are." The man handed Jakob the money. "One hundred marks. I still think you're getting a good deal."

If anyone was getting a good deal, it was Schmitz and certainly not Papa, David thought. But Jakob had insisted it was better they get something for the furniture than leave it behind for someone else to own for free.

After the dealer got in the truck and drove away, David and Jakob returned upstairs. Papa pulled out a tin container from one of the kitchen cabinets and sat down in the recliner. David settled on the floor beside him. Jakob took the bills and coins out of their makeshift bank and arranged all the money on his lap.

"How much do we have, Papa?"

"Well, I won't say that we're rich, but we have enough for the train tickets and to live on for a few months. Your Uncle Emir has a nice home, but he is not a wealthy man. Until we can find work, we'll have to support ourselves." Jakob carefully double-checked their earnings and, with a satisfied look, placed the money back inside the metal tin. "What time did you tell Hannah to expect us?" he asked.

"I told her nine o'clock. She only lives about fifteen minutes from the train station."

Jakob nodded his head, and looked around at the bare walls. "This place seems very big now," he said.

David studied the empty room, and thought back to the day they'd moved in. Then, the apartment had looked quite small, compared to where they'd used to live. After mother died, Jakob had insisted on moving to a smaller place. David often wondered if the real reason they'd left was not that the old home was too big, but that it held too many memories.

"Well," Jakob said, interrupting David's remembrances, "I think we should eat our last dinner here, yes? You prepare the vegetables; I'll start cooking the meat."

"Yes, Papa."

David got up and followed Jakob into the kitchen. They had decided to splurge on a small cut of lamb from the butcher to make some stew. The last time they'd eaten any meat had been last March on David's birthday, and then it was only chicken.

While he peeled the potatoes, his thoughts turned to Kendrick. Right now, he was probably sitting down for supper in a mess hall, joined by dozens of other boys. David smiled tightly. How many of Kendrick's classmates could actually claim they even knew a Jew, much less admit being friends with one? He wondered if Kendrick might be thinking about him right now, or if the new school and new acquaintances had replaced an old friend. With tomorrow drawing closer, David's mind shifted to the anticipation of traveling with Hannah and, once they reached Poland, finally hearing some news from his best friend. Kendrick had promised to send a letter a week before David planned to leave Germany. David was sure his uncle would hold it for him and couldn't wait to find out what Kendrick had been doing for the last month.

As he rinsed off his first peeled potato, a thought of a different sort hit him.

"Papa? Now that we've sold the table and chairs, where are we going to sit and eat?"

* * *

Kendrick sat in a quiet corner in his dorm's reading room. On the small writing table in front of him was a stack of text books. He needed to catch up on all of his reading assignments, and was slowly making his way through the long list. Closing the book he had just finished, Kendrick pulled the next one from the pile. It was a thin booklet with a cartoon picture of an odd-looking man on the front. The figure had on a long, black coat and top hat and was hunched over like an old woman. He had a large, hooked nose, a recessed chin, and was wearing a pair of oversized spectacles that perched low on the grotesque beak. Kendrick opened the pamphlet and started to read the first page. One particular passage quickly caught his attention.

"**The subhuman – a creature of nature that apparently seems biologically equal to all others. He has hands, feet, a brain of sorts, eyes, and a mouth. Nevertheless, he is a totally different, terrible creature. He is merely an attempt at a man; with human-like facial features – but spiritually and psychologically he ranks lower than the beasts. Lurking in his soul is a brute chaos of wild, unbridled lusts, an inchoate desire to destroy. **

**For he is a subhuman – nothing more!**

**Woe to whomever forgets that!" **

Thumbing through a few more pages, he came across another quote.

"**As **_**parasite-folk**_** the Jew emerges already in dark prehistory. Theft, swindle, robbery and murder against non-Jews and the contamination of the blood of other folks is the work of the "chosen people", a work which visibly rests on the blessing of their god Jahwe. The Jew has never built anything. Destruction was always his work."**

Kendrick shut the booklet in disgust and tossed it on top of the stack. He closed his eyes and tried to rid his mind of the animated 'subhuman' and replace it with a real-life image of a Jew. Visions of his best friend emerged, along with Hannah and Jakob. They looked nothing like the caricature on the cover.

Opening his eyes, Kendrick stared out across the room. A few of his classmates were sitting nearby, their heads buried in opened books. He wondered if any of them personally knew a Jew or even someone that resembled the drawing. So far, it hadn't been hard for Kendrick to hide the fact that he had a Jewish friend, but how long could he keep pretending? Everyone seemed to like him and he didn't want anything to happen that would spoil that image. He cringed, a little ashamed at himself, and grabbed the pamphlet again. He gave the picture on the front a long, hard look, trying to commit every bit of it to memory. If this is what he had to hate in order to succeed, then this imaginary person would be his enemy. But not David. Kendrick could never—would never—let himself believe that David was something lower than an animal.

With a new resolve, he opened his notebook, and took out a piece of paper. After putting the date up in the right hand corner, he paused to gather his thoughts, and started to write.

.

_Dear David,_

_I am fine. How are you? I hope you had a good trip to your uncle's._

_I've been very busy here at school. We get up at 5:45 each morning and then do calisthenics. Then we wash and dress, raise the flag and have coffee. I then go to my classroom and study until noon, when we eat again. They give us an hour after that to rest, but most of the time we just walk around outside if it's not raining. After that, we play games against each other, learn how to march, and shoot pistols and rifles. I like doing the last thing the best. We eat supper around 18:30 (that's military time for 6:30 in the evening) and then we usually watch films or do something else entertaining. Everyone goes to bed around 10 o'clock. On the weekends, we stay up a little longer, sometimes until midnight._

_I've made a lot of new friends - many are from all over Germany - but don't worry, you're still my best friend. Write me as soon as you can so I'll know you got this letter. Say 'hello' to Hannah._

_Your Friend,_

_Rick Harpo_

_._

Kendrick added the address of the school under his name and folded up the letter. If he'd been with David in person, Kendrick would've told him more, especially about the subjects he was studying and how he really liked some of his instructors and was scared to death of others. Most of all, he would've told David how much he missed him.

Collecting his books off the table, Kendrick got up and started towards the main office to mail the letter. Halfway there, he ran into one of his classmates, Erick Mueller.

"Kendrick, come! They're going to show a film about the dirty Jews. It starts in five minutes."

"I'll be right there. I have to drop off a letter."

"Alright, I'll save you a seat!"

Kendrick watched the young man run down the hall towards the theater room. This was one of the things he could never mention to his best friend. Not that it would surprise David to know they were being taught to hate Jews, but the intensity of that hatred and how much it was ingrained into their studies might come as a bitter blow. Even Kendrick's favorite class, firearms instruction, had been tainted by shooting at straw-filled dummies painted up with ugly faces intended to resemble Jews.

Would replacing David's face with a caricature really work? For now, Kendrick wasn't sure. All he could do was keep pretending he could hate Jews as much as anyone else and hope that would suffice. He didn't see why he couldn't become a Wehrmacht officer without having to proclaim that he didn't hate Jews.

He passed by the large display cabinet filled with trophies outside of the administration office and entered through the opened door. He placed the letter in the outgoing mail box then, reluctantly, retraced his way down the hall to the theater.

* * *

The eastbound train shuddered and began to slow down as it neared their destination. David leaned over and joined Hannah and Jakob at the window. This was their first look at the Polish town that would be their new home. David was amazed that there were no really tall buildings, just row upon row of small houses that lined wide dirt roads. Every so often, a church came into view amongst the homes, along with a larger building or two he guessed were businesses. As they neared the center of town, dirt roads had turned into a mixture of brick and cobblestone ones and stores together with warehouses replaced the rows of thatch roofed cottages. There weren't many automobiles—just a few farm trucks and some older cars that rattled down the roads—but what really surprised him were all the horse-drawn wagons. He hadn't seen many of those since he was a small boy.

"It's very peaceful-looking," Hannah remarked, her face still plastered to the window.

"I guess a lot of these people must work out on the farms," David said, remembering the ones he'd seen during the long train ride. They'd passed several long stretches of newly tilled land since arriving in Poland. He was already starting to wonder how he'd make a living here. "At least Warsaw is only two more hours away," he added, more for his own reassurance than anything else.

"I don't know about going to another city," Hannah ventured. "Living in a smaller town might be good."

"Oh, look! There's Uncle Emir!" Jakob exclaimed.

David scanned the small group of people waiting on the platform until he recognized the familiar face. Beside the tall, yet noticeably overweight man was another familiar, and much younger, relative.

"Is that Cousin Michael?" David asked excitedly.

"It sure looks like him," Jakob answered, straining to look out of the window as the train finally came to a complete stop. "I wonder what he's doing here."

"Is he the one whose father died?" Hannah asked.

David got up to retrieve the bags from the overhead racks. "Yes, Uncle Malakhi's son. He was living with his aunt in Lodz." David grabbed one suitcase, but had to jostle for elbow room in the cramped train car as he struggled to pull a larger bag down.

"Well, I'm glad that he came. I want to meet as many of your relatives as I can." Hannah slid away from the window and joined David in the aisle.

It seemed to take forever to get off the train, but eventually David made it onto the platform, carrying the two bulky suitcases that seemed to be getting heavier by the second. He kept his eyes on Hannah, not wanting to lose her in the crowd, but almost tripped stepping off the train because he couldn't see his feet. He skirted around a small group meeting some other passengers, and looked back to make sure Jakob was still behind him.

"David! Jakob! Over here!"

David turned and finally caught a glimpse of Uncle Emir waving his arm at them from the edge of the station gate a few feet away.

"Brother!" Jakob cried as he pushed past David. He dropped his suitcase and gave Emir a firm hug.

"Hello, cousin," David began, approaching Michael. Younger than David, he was a little shorter, but had the same stocky build and dark curly hair that all the Starsky men possessed. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"_Jak się masz?_" Michael answered, with a little smirk. "You haven't forgotten how to speak Polish have you?"

"_Żaden, oczywiście nie_. And I see you haven't forgotten German."

Michael smiled. "Good to see you."

David turned sideways. "Hannah, this is my cousin Michael."

"I'm so happy to meet you," Hannah said, offering her hand.

"Little Davey!" Uncle Emir shouted as he slipped past Michael. He grabbed David and gave him an enthusiastic hug. Even if he wanted to, David couldn't return it since his arms were still pinned, holding onto their bags. Letting go, Uncle Emir said, "My, you've grown almost a foot since I saw you last. Jakob, he definitely takes after our side of the family, doesn't he?" Before his brother could answer, Uncle Emir's eyes landed on Hannah. "And this lovely lady must be your Hannah. _Mazel Tov_!"

"Thank you, Uncle. I'm so grateful that you allowed me to come." Hannah gave him a warm smile as she shook his hand. Delicately, she reached up to tuck in a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. Despite the long trip, her face still glowed warmly in the bright afternoon sun.

"It was my pleasure," Uncle Emir replied. He took a quick glance around the busy platform. "This noisy station is no place to hold a family reunion. Let's get you all to my house. You must be tired after your journey."

They walked to the end of the platform and then down a few steps towards a two-door, green Opel Olympia. David could barely contain his excitement to finally see one of these cars up close, but then wondered how all five of them were going to fit inside with all of their baggage.

"Here, give me those bags," Uncle Emir ordered. David and Jakob handed over their suitcases and watched as he tossed them onto the car's roof. Michael had grabbed a length of rope from the trunk and after a few minutes of tugging and pulling, all the suitcases plus two additional bags were secured on top. Michael crawled into the back seat first, with David and Hannah climbing in after him. Jakob sat up front next to Uncle Emir who took over behind the steering wheel. Although space was tight, David didn't mind as Hannah got to sit on his lap.

.

**Chapter 7**

**.**

While on the way to their new home, David and Hannah gazed out intently from the windows on both sides of the car, curious to see what the town had to offer. Michael, on the other hand, appeared completely disinterested, as if he'd seen the place hundreds of times. Uncle Emir and Jakob were talking steadily amongst themselves up front. As usual, it was Hannah that ended up asking the first question.

"So, Michael, how long have you been here?"

"About six months," he replied, sounding bored.

"I'm sorry about what happened to your father," David remarked, suspending his sightseeing. Emir and Jakob were talking quietly up front, ignoring the young people. "Was he sick for very long?"

"Almost a year. He spent the last two months in the hospital."

"How did you end up here with Uncle Emir?" David asked.

Michael's face turned melancholy. "After the funeral, Uncle Emir asked if I wanted to come stay with him. I wanted to stay in Lodz with Aunt Lina, but Papa didn't have much money…I really didn't have a choice."

"Do you have a job here?" David asked, hoping to change the topic to something less gloomy.

"I help out at one of the markets—putting out the produce, cleaning up. I get a few zlotys a week. Enough to help Uncle out with buying some food."

"How much is a zloty compared to a reichsmark?" asked Hannah.

"Two zlotys equals one reichsmark," Uncle Emir suddenly exclaimed, shouting over his shoulder. "If you ask me, though, it should be the other way around. Poles know the value of money, unlike the bloody Krauts."

"Brother," Jakob interjected, "remember that you have three Krauts in your car at the moment."

"I don't mean _all_ Krauts, just the ones still in Germany."

The three teenagers in the back chuckled. David knew all about his uncle's undying love for Poland. When Jakob's father had decided to move to Germany, Uncle Emir, the oldest of the children, had refused to go. Although not even twenty, he'd stayed behind with relatives and was able to make a decent living by starting a shoe repair shop.

"Well, here we are," Uncle Emir announced, pulling up to pleasant-looking wooden house.

Although the drive home hadn't taken very long, David was relieved to get to a place where he wouldn't have to feel the sensation of movement any longer. He'd had enough of traveling, especially after being on a train for two days. Uncle Emir opened his door and helped Hannah climb out first. She gingerly slid forward, keeping one hand on her skirt so it wouldn't ride up. David followed sluggishly, his thighs numb after having Hannah sitting in his lap. Michael got out on the passenger side and immediately went to work untying the rope from the roof. David joined him and the two unloaded the luggage while Jakob and Uncle Emir stood in the front yard and talked. Across the street, David noticed a few of Emir's neighbors eying the new arrivals at his house.

When the last bag was unloaded, David and Michael carried everything into the house. Once inside, David set the luggage down and, following his uncle, took a quick look around. The house was smaller than he would've thought. The front parlor room was only big enough to hold three vinyl-covered armchairs and a tiny coffee table, but it did have a nice fireplace. Off to the right, the room connected to the kitchen, and to the left, it joined a hallway which led to three bedrooms. At the end was a single washroom. It was obviously going to be very crowded with five people living here. David glanced over at Hannah. She had on a brave face, but David could tell she was thinking the same thing.

Pointing to his room, Uncle Emir said, "Jakob, you and I will share my bedroom. The boys will be in Michael's room here, and Hannah gets the small bedroom."

David picked up their bags and entered Hannah's room first. It _was_ small. The single bed and three-drawer dresser took up nearly all of the floor space, leaving only a narrow walkway in between. He set her bag on the bed and went to join her as she stood by the window looking out at the front yard.

"You've got a nice view of the neighborhood," he said sheepishly, not sure what to make of her silence so far.

"Yes, it's a lovely view. I like these old cottages, and everyone's yard looks so pretty." She turned and leaned over the bed. She opened the suitcase and, reaching inside, pulled out a hinged, metal-framed picture. As she placed it on top of the dresser, David noticed it contained two portraits of her parents, one from their wedding day, the other a more recent picture.

Feeling suddenly guilty, David put his arm around her. "I know this isn't exactly what we'd planned, but I'll find a place for us. I promise you that."

"I know you will," she replied softly.

He watched her for a moment, wishing there was something he could do to make her situation more bearable. Only one thing entered his mind, so he leaned forward and gave her a soft peck on the cheek. He picked the other suitcase off of the floor. "I'll be back in just a little while, okay?"

Hannah nodded agreeably, looking a bit more content. "I'll be fine. I should start unpacking."

David turned and went next door to his and Michael's room. He wasn't surprised at seeing the double bed, but wished there could've been two single ones instead. Their room was slighter larger than Hannah's and contained a few more pieces of furniture, notably a desk and a small chair. The walls were covered in light green wallpaper with a checkered pattern. It had separated at the seams in some places, but otherwise looked alright. He set the suitcase down by the dresser and noticed a small picture sitting on top. Picking it up, he recognized the man sitting on the old farm tractor as Uncle Malakhi, Michael's father. David glanced around the room again, but the picture was the only personal thing of Michael's that he could see. As he put it back on the dresser, David hoped he'd have a chance to talk to his cousin more about why he decided to move so far away from home.

"So, cousin," Michael said from the doorway, "what do you think of Poland so far?"

David whipped around, startled by Michael's presence. "_Scheisse_, you scared me! Don't do that again!"

"Sorry," he answered flatly. "Didn't know I had to knock before coming into my own room."

Michael came in and sat down on the bed. With his heart now calmed down, David asked, "So what's it like living here?"

"It's all right. At first, I didn't know anyone, least of all someone my age—and female. But I finally met a girl at church about two months ago. Since then, it's been pretty good."

"Church? You mean 'temple,' don't you?" David asked in surprise. As far as he knew, all the Starskys had been Jews for as long as anyone could remember.

Michael shook his head. "No, Catholic Church. I go there every Sunday."

David sat down next to his cousin on the bed. Michael's admission definitely had him confused. "But…you're Jewish. Why are you praying with _goyims_?"

Lazily, Michael stretched out on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. "I'm still a Jew; I mean I don't think Jesus was the Messiah, if that's what you're wondering about. It's just that, when Papa died…I didn't want to go back into another synagogue." Michael said, his last words sounding choked. "Aunt Nelka even found Mother and told her what happened. She still didn't want me and didn't even come to the funeral." Michael wiped the side of his face, probably trying to hide an escaping tear. "After I came here, Uncle Emir said it didn't matter what religion I believed in, but I wasn't going to live under his roof as some Communist atheist. So I picked the fanciest church in town and started to go there every week."

"Doesn't it feel strange, being in a church?" David pressed, fascinated at what he was hearing. He'd always thought the Catholic churches, with their stained glass windows, were beautiful to see on the outside. But he'd never imagined a situation where he'd be inside of one.

Michael rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his arm. "At first it did. I thought I was going to be struck down with lightning or something, but now it feels like going into any other building." His brilliant blue eyes stared at David for a moment. "Hannah seems really nice. When are you going to get married?"

David did a double take at the change of subject. "We're not sure," he said, after a moment. "I want to be able to give her a ring, and a house to live in."

"Here, in Poland?" Michael laughed. "You'll need to become a thief."

"I did have a ring for her!" David blurted out. When he saw the surprised look on Michael's face, he quietly added, "It was a gold ring with a pearl set in it. Cost me a lot of marks…I lost it during Kristallnacht."

That really got Michael's attention. "Kristallnacht? Did that happen where you were, too?"

David nodded his head. "I saw Nazi storm troopers kill an old Hasidic Jew. It was horrible, Michael. They knocked him down to the ground, and then they just beat him to death. He never even raised a hand to them."

Michael sat up. "We heard about what happened. Uncle Emir was worried about you and Uncle Jakob. But how did you lose the ring?"

Before David answered, he glanced over at the doorway making sure no one was out in the hall. In a low voice he continued. "I got pushed around by some crazy man. I think that's when it must've fallen out of my pocket." David shuddered at the memory of that night. He'd been targeted because of his religion, but like a shameless coward, had denounced it in a heartbeat.

"That must have been scary. Did you get hurt?" Michael asked.

"No, just my pride. But I hated losing the ring." David turned his attention back to the present. "I really love Hannah, Michael. She deserves far more than I can give her."

"Don't underestimate yourself. She's agreed to be your wife, and pretty girls like that, they can afford to be picky. Besides, if she loves you now, think of how much more she'll love you when you get rich!"

David chuckled. "You mean, when I become a good thief, right?"

"Right!"

Jakob knocked on the open door. "Come, boys, Uncle Emir is preparing coffee and biscuits."

The cousins eyed each other with guilty looks. David hoped Jakob hadn't heard his last comment about stealing as a career. He followed Michael out of the room, but paused in the hall. Hannah's door was open, so he peered inside. She was placing some clothes in one of the dresser drawers and apparently didn't see him standing there. Something about the way she looked immediately concerned him.

Not wanting to scare her, he tapped on the door. "Hannah, is everything alright?" he asked, taking a step inside.

She acknowledged him with a sad smile. "Of course, my _gelibteh_. I'm just tired."

David went to her side and caressed her cheek, dismayed that it was damp. "So tired that you're crying?" When a few more tears slipped free, he guided her to the bed and both sat down. "What is it? Are you sick?"

"I guess you could say that," she answered, then looked out the window. "Coming here with you, I didn't think I'd feel homesick, but I do."

Not sure what to say, David put his arm around her shoulders. "I'm sorry. I'll get work as soon as I can, and we'll go back home."

"No, David! _This _is our home now. Besides, you're my husband—I go where you go." She laid a hand on his thigh. "Your uncle is a very generous man, and we should work on trying to repay him."

David took her hand and squeezed it. "There'll be time for that later. Let's go have some coffee, then you should lie down for a while. Maybe you'll feel better after a nap."

The grateful smile on Hannah's face was all David needed to see. Keeping hold of her hand, he helped her up. Hannah took a moment to tuck in her blouse, then wiped both of her cheeks. By the time they got to the kitchen, Jakob and Michael were already sitting at the table. Uncle Emir was at the counter, pouring coffee into cups. David pulled a chair out for Hannah, and just before he sat down himself, Uncle Emir came up and patted him on the back.

"Nephew, I almost forgot. You have a letter here that arrived yesterday."

"A letter?" Jakob asked anxiously. "Who wrote you a letter?"

"I'm not sure, Papa. I haven't seen it yet." David hoped the innocent tone in his voice would keep Jakob from getting too suspicious. But inside he jumped at the news. Kendrick had written to him, just as he'd promised.

Uncle Emir reached inside a cabinet by the sink and retrieved the envelope. "Here you are," he said, but Jakob snatched it out of David's hand.

"Papa! That's my letter!" David cried, his heart speeding up.

Jakob ignored him and glanced at the front of the letter. "Who is Rick Harpo?" he asked firmly.

"A boy from school."

"I've never heard you mention him before. How did he know where you were going?"

"I gave him Uncle Emir's address."

"Why?" he hollered.

"Jakob, what is the matter?" Uncle Emir exclaimed. "Is it a big secret that you are here?"

Jakob's angry face softened. "No, it's just that…" He stopped and glanced over at Michael and Hannah, who were watching with undivided attention, as was Uncle Emir. Jakob shook off their stares and stiffened his shoulders. He shoved the letter back at David. "Here, you can read it later. Right now, we are having coffee and visiting with your relatives."

"Yes, Papa." David stuck the letter inside of his jacket. He caught the curious glances from Michael and Hannah, but pretended there was nothing wrong.

After everyone had finished their snack, each left the kitchen with their own agenda. The two brothers had gone for a walk, Hannah was lying down in her room and Michael had left for work at the market. David was finally free to read the letter without interruption.

He closed the door to his room and sat on the bed. The excitement made his hands shake a little as he carefully opened the envelope and took out the letter. Kendrick hadn't written much, but that didn't diminish David's joy.

Relishing every word, he read and reread the note several times. The best line of all was the one that said David was still his best friend. When he'd nearly memorized the entire message, he folded the letter up and stuck it back in the envelope. David glanced around the room, looking for a good hiding spot. Not finding much of anything, he stuck it under the mattress.

Missing Kendrick, and for that matter, his old neighborhood in Germany, David went over to the window. Unlike Hannah's room, his view was of the backyard. Two trees growing by a tilled garden plot were filled with bright green leaves, and underneath, a small patch of yellow daffodils stood in full bloom. The grass seemed high enough to be mowed and the blue sky matched the color of a starling's egg. Off to the west, white, puffy clouds hung motionless in the heavens, completing the spring mosaic.

Staring through the glass, David thought about a lot of things—how to be a good provider to Hannah, how much he missed talking to Kendrick, and how he longed for the familiarity of home. He understood why Hannah had cried. It was as if they were in a different world now, with no one but themselves to depend on. In front of them loomed an uncertain future, behind them, a country and race of people who wanted Jews dead and gone. He wished he knew the reason why so many people hated his race. Other than the Hasidic Jews who wore their long _peyes_ sideburns and distinct _kashket_ caps, there was no way to tell a Jew from a non-Jew. Well, not clothed, anyway.

Suddenly, a cold sensation swept over David, causing him to shudder. For an instant, it was as if he was being sucked into a long, dark tunnel, where an all-intense feeling of fear prevailed. His chest tightened and he began to feel lightheaded. He backed away from the window, trying to rid himself of the emotion.

Shaken, he stumbled out of the room, needing to see Hannah. When he peeked inside the partially opened door, she was still napping peacefully in bed. A moderate breeze came in through her open window, gently separating and lifting the lacey curtains. Quickly, they settled back down, hanging still and straight just as they'd been moments before.

The vision, although serene, didn't calm him. All day long, it had been perfectly still outside without any wind. David couldn't understand where the unusual breeze had come from.

Unnerved, he glanced back at Hannah's slumbering form, making sure he could see her chest rise and fall. In need of a distraction, David tiptoed down the hall to the parlor. A small stack of books sitting on the fireplace mantle caught his attention. After glancing through a few, he found one that had several captioned pictures. Since he planned to be here for a while, brushing up on his Polish wouldn't hurt and the pictures might help him figure out the words he didn't know. He picked a comfortable chair to sit down in, and began to slowly thumb through the pages.

* * *

Kendrick joined the group of classmates standing outside of the administration office. The scores from the last round of summer classes had just been posted, and a long line had formed in the hallway. Everyone was awaiting their turn to see the final grades.

Erick Mueller stood in front of Kendrick, watching as each boy either walked away with a clinched fist raised in victory or with his head bowed low.

He turned his head around and asked, "Do you think you passed, Kendrick?"

"I think so," Kendrick answered, bending forward. "That final exam was pretty hard, though. What about you?"

"I'm not sure. But I do know one thing—if I end up in the bottom third and get dismissed, my father will never speak to me again."

Kendrick inwardly flinched. He could see his own father reacting just as harshly.

Finally, it was Erick's turn. He walked up to the board and ran his finger down the list of names. Suddenly stiffening, he punched one hand into the other. When Erick turned around, he had an enormous grin that stretched from ear to ear. Clearly triumphant, he went over and stood with a group of boys that looked similarly happy. Kendrick gathered his courage and went up to take his turn. Upon finding his score, he had to double check and make sure it was his and not someone else's. Not only had he passed, but he was the second-highest student in the class. Inwardly ecstatic, he casually eased away and started to head towards his dorm room. He'd seen several other boys walk away with sad faces, and didn't want to celebrate at their expense. Before he'd gone more than a few steps, though, someone called his name.

"Kendrick! _Komm her!"_

He turned and realized it was one of his instructors. "Yes,_Obersturmführer,_" Kendrick answered quickly, coming to attention. Lieutenant Hirschman was one member of the academy's staff that every student feared. Only average in height, the man was very physically fit and, when mad, possessed a look that could scare away the meanest animal. He could be jovial one moment, but then turn into a raging bull the next. No one, even the other instructors, ever wanted to land on his bad side.

"Congratulations on graduating at the top of your class, _Anwärter_ Hutchinson—or should I say, _Sturmmann_ Hutchinson."

Stunned, Kendrick looked at the lieutenant. "I've already been promoted to a corporal?" he gasped.

"Does that surprise you? Altman Friedrich will be your team leader;he is now a _Rottenführer_, as befits the top cadet," the lieutenant said pompously. "There was almost an exception made in your case… many had voted to give you that same rank. Clearly, we couldn't break tradition, but you should know in the history of this school, no second place cadet has ever received a rank above private. Well done, _Sturmmann_ Hutchinson."

"Thank you, _Obersturmführer_. I'm honored."

A strange smile appeared on the instructor's face. "As your first assignment, you need to report to the staff sergeant immediately," he began. "I'm afraid you won't be returning home for a break as planned. You and several of your classmates are being sent on a special mission. You'll receive more information later. Heil Hitler!"

Kendrick stiffened and returned the lieutenant's salute. On one level, he was disappointed that he wouldn't be able to celebrate the good news with his parents, but the prospect of going on his first mission was extremely enticing.

"Kendrick! Congratulations!" Erick announced, stepping away from the nearby crowd. "We're really going to be SS soldiers!"

After being congratulated by a few others who had witnessed the conversation, Kendrick walked upstairs to the _Scharführer's _office. He paused at the open door and peeked inside before knocking, wanting to make sure the officer was there.

"You wanted to see me, Staff Sergeant?" he asked, seeing the man reading at his desk.

"Ah, _Sturmmann _Hutchinson. Come in." Sergeant Bechner put down his notes and got up to shake Kendrick's hand. He was tall and thin, in his mid-forties, but his sandy blond hair and lightly tanned face made him look much younger. "I was happy to hear that they promoted you. You've been one of our best students."

"Thank you, _Scharführer_. I'm grateful for your show of confidence."

Bechner picked up a letter and handed it to Kendrick. "Here are your orders. You are not to discuss these with anyone, understand?" Kendrick gave a slight nod. "Not even the men in your own squad. By tomorrow morning, make sure you are wearing your new uniform. It should be ready for you down in the Supply Department."

"Yes, sir."

A warm smile appeared on the sergeant's face. "That will be all. Make us proud of you, Kendrick."

"I will. I promise."

After leaving the office, Kendrick headed for the library. Since school had officially ended, he knew the chances of finding a private area to look over the letter would be good. He easily found an empty table in a secluded corner and quickly opened the sealed envelope. Reading each word slowly and carefully, his anticipation rose with each sentence. That is, until he got halfway through. He knew the exact location of the German border town to which he and over a dozen heavily armed squads and three panzer divisions were being sent. He also knew the area around there was sparsely populated. There was only conclusion he could draw.

"_Oh my God, we're invading Poland_," he whispered.

* * *

September 1, 1939

David and Michael walked down the main street, headed towards the town square. The mid-morning air still felt cool, but the sun was out, and the day promised to be just like the previous one; warm and dry. All summer, David had been working odd jobs, sometimes out on the local farms, which he hated. He didn't like being outdoors. If it wasn't scorching hot, it was raining buckets, and it seemed he was always miles away from a comfortable spot to rest. He was certainly learning just how far he'd go to earn a little money. Today, though, he'd be working indoors. Two weeks ago, Michael had finally convinced his boss to hire David. The market job was hard and despite only earning a minimum amount of pay, David still liked working there.

He and Michael had grown very close over the past few months. Not only had they shared the same room, but also a few secrets; David had told Michael all about Kendrick, and Michael had talked about a plan that would hopefully get him and his girlfriend, Alina, to America. He'd even found a Polish-English dictionary and was trying to learn some useful words and phrases. Several times, Michael had tried to convince David and Hannah to join him, but David wouldn't dream of leaving Papa or Uncle Emir behind, much less Hannah's parents. But he did enjoy sitting around with Michael when he studied English, and was gradually learning how to say a few broken sentences.

Once the boys arrived at the market square, they threaded their way through the thick crowd of shoppers. Several merchants, mainly farmers, had set up crudely-built booths and tables, and were offering a wide variety of fruits and vegetables. When they reached the wooden-framed building that served as the town's main grocery, Michael located the owner and briefly spoke to him. Vladyck was middle aged, tall, and well-muscled. The Pole had a somewhat overbearing manner, but, nonetheless, he was well-respected. He did expect a hard day's work for what he was willing to pay, and for today, that involved putting out a large shipment of farm produce that had come in earlier that morning.

David was helping Michael unload a large crate of cabbage up front when a small group of men rushed in off the street, looking panicked. David's eyes locked with his cousin's, each seeming to sense something was very wrong. Michael laid the pry bar down he was holding and both wandered over to where the men had converged on the store's owner; a heated discussion was already underway.

"Vladyck, you need to start preparing immediately!" a man with a bushy mustache demanded. "Who knows how much time we have?"

"How do you know these are just not rumors?" Vladyck asked.

"We heard it with our own ears on the radio not half an hour ago!" another cried out. This man had a long beard and was using a cane to help balance himself. "And it wasn't just the towns along the southern border. Poznan and Danzig were reporting the same thing!"

David and Michael exchanged nervous glances. The news sounded ominous.

"All right, but we are far from the border," Vladyck said. "Our army will protect us."

"Against the entire German army?" a third challenged. "Trust me, you'll be seeing Hitler himself driving through town behind an army of goose-stepping bastards within a week."

"Janek, such dramatics! I give him _two_ weeks," another interjected. This man appeared to be the oldest of the group

"Hush, hush! Everyone!" Vladyck yelled out, pounding his fist on the counter. "We need to think rationally. Where is the police chief? He should know what to do."

"That useless, fat pig? We need to talk with someone in command in Warsaw," Janek said. "Polchek, doesn't your brother work in the city administration office?"

"What did he say?" David whispered, frustrated that his knowledge of Polish wasn't good enough to understand the entire conversation.

"Ssshh!" Michael hissed, obviously trying to listen to the men. "This is serious."

"Yes! That is what I'm talking about!" Setting his broom to the side, Vladyck turned to the man holding the cane. "Polchek, take Janek and Alesky with you. Go see your brother and find out what is going on."

"But is it safe to travel?" Polchek protested.

"What are you talking about?" Alesky, the oldest, jeered. "The Germans are hundreds of kilometers away!"

"Last I heard, their planes carried big bombs." Polchek said, pointing his cane at the ceiling.

A brief silence fell over the men. "You dumb Cossack," Vladyck swore. "Just get going. You'll be fine."

Polcheck, Janek and Alesky turned and headed out the door, still muttering to one another. The man with the bushy mustache and Vladyck stayed behind, their expressions grim. David pulled Michael over to a vacant aisle beside the dried cereal.

"Go home right now, and tell Papa and Uncle Emir what those men said," David ordered.

"Why aren't you coming?" asked Michael.

"Because one of us needs to stay here and keep working. Now go! Come back and tell me what they said."

"Okay." Michael slipped off his apron and handed it to David. "So what're we going to do? If the Germans are coming, where are we going to go?"

"I don't know. Maybe Uncle Emir will know someone who'll take us in. Now go on! And hurry!"

David went back to the front of the store where he had been unloading the crate. Standing by the front windows, he peered outside and watched as the three men got into an old farm truck. The vehicle cranked over with a loud sputter and shot out a black, smoky cloud of exhaust. Watching them drive away, David wished he could've been the one to go home and tell Papa, but his knowledge of Polish was still iffy at best. Michael was the better choice, since he would've heard everything correctly. Yet, there was no doubt in David's mind what the men had said, and what this meant for Poland. Until Michael returned, all David could do was wonder if his family would keep moving east. Poland was bad enough, but would Russia even let them cross the border?

As he started to unpack more of the cabbage, David glanced up at the sky. There were no bombers flying overhead, at least not for now.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Hi Everyone, many thanks for your interest in the story and your reviews! I welcome all comments, good or bad, so please feel free to let me know what you think of the story so far.

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**Chapter 8**

David held Hannah's hand as they walked along the dirt road back to Uncle Emir's house. The night air was calm, but still carried the scent of burning wood that trailed up from cottage chimneys. Michael, who'd preferred to walk alone, wasn't too far ahead, and behind them, Jakob and Uncle Emir slowly brought up the rear. Eager to hear the latest news about the war, they'd been visiting a neighbor who owned a radio. Several other guests from the neighborhood had also there. According to the broadcast, Poland had been invaded from every direction except the east. The news claimed that the army was defending the country against the German onslaught, but there was no mention of either France or Britain coming to Poland's aid. A few people had said they didn't think the military could hold out for very long. David had no doubt they were right.

Once they arrived home, the older men hesitated for a moment out in the front yard.

"I'm not a military man, Jakob. How soon we might see Germans outside our window is anyone's guess."

"What about your friend, Yaakov? Didn't he fight in the Great War?"

"Yes, he did." Emir raised his wrist up to the light coming from their house. "Maybe it's not too late to pay him a visit. Children! We're going down the road to visit someone. Don't wait up for us if it gets too late, alright?"

"Yes, Uncle," David called out from the front porch. As the two brothers left, both could still be heard talking about the broadcast. Without even saying goodbye, Michael suddenly walked away and headed towards town. David turned to Hannah. She looked worried, but whatever concerns she had, she was keeping them to herself. Entering the house, David led Hannah into her bedroom and closed the door. Not saying anything, they both slipped off their jackets and sat down on the bed.

"What did you think about what they said on the radio?" David asked.

"I'm not sure what to think," she replied. "It's all so horrible. It seems the more we try to run away from trouble, the faster it chases after us. What about you? What do you think?"

Smiling, David started to unbutton his shirt. After he undid the last button, he took his hand and cupped Hannah's cheek.

"I don't want to think anymore—about the war, about the Germans—" David leaned forward and, sensing no objection, pressed in close for a kiss. He gently nipped at Hannah's lips until her mouth opened in invitation. David started to explore the warmth and softness with his tongue, probing ever deeper to toy with hers. He pulled her closer until he could feel the firm tips of her breasts nudge against his chest. As blood began to rush down to his dick, he reluctantly paused.

"I only want to think about you tonight," he whispered. "Would you make love to me?"

"Here? And now?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered firmly. "I'm tired of being afraid of what might happen tomorrow. Right now, I just want us to become one person…who has no cares…or fears. I want you, Hannah, like I've never wanted anything before."

Inside of him, a flurry of emotions was beginning to boil. Deep, primitive desires wanted to reach out and take her, to finally claim what was his and his alone. He'd been waiting so long, for the right time, the right place, but that was never going to happen. Tonight was as good as it would ever get. She had to say 'yes.' _She had to_.

"I love you, David," she replied. "And I want you too, but…"

Without a moment's hesitation, David pulled off his shirt and laid his hand on hers.

"Do you trust me?" he asked.

"Yes."

He moved both hands up to her shoulders. "Do you think I'd ever hurt you?"

"No."

David focused his attention on the front of her blouse, and started to slowly unbutton it. "I want you to enjoy this, Hannah. We're just two people, wanting to express pure love, nothing else."

After opening the blouse, he carefully slipped it off of one arm, and then the other. He looked up at her face and cupped the delicate chin so he could give her another long kiss. Hannah raised her arms and placed them around his neck. The pace of her breathing increased, and as each breath brushed across his cheeks, David felt a tingling dig deeper and deeper inside of him. With their mouths still joined, he slowly reached behind her back and unhooked her brassiere. He drew his head back and checked her face for any sign of hesitancy. Seeing none, he slipped the lacey garment off and feasted his eyes on the exposed breasts.

They were perfectly round and firm, with hard, pink nipples that seemed to beg to be suckled. As the rush of testosterone took over, he thrust his mouth against hers and took hold of one of the velvety mounds. Smoothly, he laid her down and helped lift her legs onto the mattress. Fondling a breast with one hand, his lips traveled steadily—first nibbling at her neck, then her chin, and back to her mouth where his tongue continued its exploration.

Hannah moved her hands from his shoulders and combed her fingers through his hair. As they settled on the back of his neck, she moaned softly, almost sending him over the edge. Gathering all the self-restraint he could, he paused to catch his breath.

"Is anything wrong?" she asked, lifting her head.

"Are you kidding?" he said, with a slight gasp. He inched back so his head hovered over her chest. Eying his next target and unable to resist anymore, he dropped down and greedily claimed a nipple.

When Hannah arched up and moaned again, his cock instantly enlarged and pushed against the tight confinement of his clothing. Desperate to relieve the pressure, he unzipped his pants and sighed gratefully as cooler air touched his burning dick. Longing for pressure of another sort, he gently lowered his groin onto hers. Rubbing back and forth against her, David knew he couldn't wait any longer.

"Hannah, I need to…are you ready?" he panted, the hot urge inside starting to burn through his skin.

"Could you turn out the light?" she asked timidly.

He stifled a groan, but climbed off the bed and hastily hit the light switch. Taking advantage of the dark, he quickly slipped his pants and underwear off. The sound of Hannah moving on the bed grabbed his attention.

"What are you doing?" he asked, trying not to sound impatient, but he could already feel a slight amount of deflation.

"Getting under the covers. I don't want to be cold." The bedsprings creaked a little, then fell silent. Finally, Hannah's soft voice spilled out of the dark. "Okay, I'm ready."

David returned to the bedside and, lifting the covers, slipped nimbly underneath them. He cautiously moved over her body, careful not to jab her with his knees. Finding the soft mouth again, he laid a few kisses on her lips and lowered his hips. He nearly shot straight up again when the tip of his cock touched soft and curly hairs.

"You took everything off?" he asked without a second thought.

"Well, yes. We're supposed to be naked, right?"

He couldn't help but snicker out loud.

"What?" Hannah whimpered. "Am I doing something wrong?"

"No, no, no. You're fine—truly. I just didn't expect you to do that already."

Although he couldn't make out her facial expression, David could've sworn she was trying not to laugh herself. His body quickly tensed when delicate fingers raked lightly down the sides of his chest then settled on his butt. His heart started beating faster as Hannah's body shifted and her thighs spread wider.

"Oh, Hannah," he whispered as his dick seemed to elongate and strained towards its ultimate goal. "Try to relax, okay? I'll go slow."

"Okay."

As gently as he could, David butted his wet tip in between the soft folds of skin, until he felt a moist hole. He eased himself into the tight opening, but immediately stopped when Hannah stiffened under him.

"It's not hurting, is it?" he muttered, as every nerve began to burst in his sensitive dick.

"No, maybe a little. Give me a second."

_Oh, shit. _"Just let me know when," he said as calmly as he could.

Finally, he felt the strangulating grip around the circumcised head of his penis begin to ease.

"I'm ready, go ahead."

He'd never heard more beautiful words spoken before. Pushing forward, he felt himself slipping into ecstasy as his entire length sank into the warm channel. He pulled back, and pushed in again, until a rhythm emerged. After a few moments, he grunted, "Does it feel good?"

"Uh-huh."

Something about Hannah's voice didn't sound right. "Are you sure?" he asked, almost coming to a stop.

"Yes, really. Please, keep going."

More beautiful words. He resumed his thrusting and within a minute, his dick was ready to burst. Before he could say anything else, the climax hit. For one selfish moment, he relished the euphoric feeling as his balls constricted and semen shot into the warm abyss. He felt Hannah's body also stiffen, the soft gasp from her mouth prolonging his ecstasy even longer. Not until the last spasms died out, could he turn his attention fully back to his lover.

"Oh, my sweet," he gasped, "Tell me you feel as good as I do."

He felt her hands caress his face. "It was wonderful," she said.

David shifted off of his knees and onto his side. He dabbed at a bead of sweat forming on his forehead, but worried that Hannah hadn't experienced their lovemaking as intensely as he did. "I want this to be something that your body craves as much as mine does," he told her, still trying to catch his breath. "Tell me when you feel really good, so I'll know what to do."

"All right. But what I want right now is to lay here and fall asleep in your arms."

More than happy to oblige, David cuddled next to the soft body. Her hair felt like silk blanket on his shoulder, and fully content, he nestled his head onto the pillow. Tonight, at least, there were no worries about what the next day might bring. Their union had been perfect—plain and simple—and that was all that mattered.

* * *

Kendrick let the heavy backpack drop off from his shoulders and sat down wearily on the straw-covered floor. He leaned back against a wide, wooden beam and gazed up at a kerosene lantern that hung on a large nail above his head. The flickering flame illuminated the building's interior, making shadows dance and bounce around the room. At least it was quiet here. The only sound was soft conversation coming from the other soldiers who were huddled with him inside the barn. When one of the privates started to light a cooking fire, Kendrick felt his stomach grumble. He couldn't recall if he'd eaten today or not, but he had developed quite a craving for cigarettes lately. It was amazing how the little rolls of tobacco could calm his nerves; no wonder the vast majority of men in his regiment smoked them. And certainly, those fellow smokers would be glad once the weekly supply packages arrived and he could repay them for all the smokes they'd lent him.

While he rested, Kendrick's mind continued to drift back in time, but the memories were clouded. There'd been shooting and sounds of exploding artillery—he remembered that—along with screaming and more shooting. Yes, that pretty well described it. And all this had been constantly repeating, in one form or another, since he and his squad had crossed the border into Poland nearly two weeks ago.

Staring at the ever-changing shadows, more recent images began to surface. Scenes he had only glimpsed, but not truly believed. He'd never seen a man's leg blown off before, or known what human muscle and bone really looked like. Nor, for that matter, a tiny body burned completely black. For all the things they'd taught him at the academy, this had never been included. What death looks like, smells like, and how it feels when you deliver it.

He studied the faces around him, the light from the rising fire casting a yellow glow on each one. The older men just looked tired, as if they'd been working hard all day. Some of the younger ones appeared excited, virtually bursting with energy. Then there were the others. The ones who sat like statues, their minds locked in a place that was very far from this old barn. This was how he must look. For him, like the majority of soldiers in the battalion, this had been their first taste of actual combat, thrust into a situation where there'd been no choice but to admit their own mortality. He and his comrades were good soldiers, but he'd already seen too many of the Master Race die just as easily as the enemy.

When a tobacco craving suddenly hit, Kendrick got up and went over to the barn door.

"_Gefreiter,_where are you going?" someone asked.

Kendrick turned and recognized his sergeant. "Just outside to get some fresh air, _Oberscharführer."_

He watched with concern as the platoon leader rose and grabbed a rifle. "I think I'll join you," he said.

Outside, the evening air felt cool and damp. When they had walked far enough away to escape the musty odor of the barn, Kendrick took in a deep breath. He could smell traces of smoke and gunpowder, residue, no doubt, from the day's earlier events. The two men talked quietly together as they passed by scattered groups of soldiers sitting around pup tents and campfires eating their evening meals. Careful not to stray too far, they kept their stroll confined to the camp's perimeter. Kendrick took the cigarette his sergeant offered, smoking it appreciatively and wondering why he hadn't accepted his tobacco allotment from the start.

He took one last drag and flicked the butt away.

"Nasty habit, isn't it?" the sergeant asked.

Kendrick smirked. "That's what they told us at the academy."

"Ah, those worthless idiots. They haven't been on a battlefield since the Great War. They've forgotten what it's really like."

"I don't see how anyone can forget what this is like," Kendrick murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

The sergeant stopped walking, and gazed up at the sky. "Let me tell you something," he softly began. "If you really want to survive the war, then you're going to have to make sure you're dead."

"I don't think I understand," Kendrick ventured.

"It's like this," the sergeant explained. "As long as you think you are alive, you will always be scared to death out here. Once you've convinced yourself that you're already dead, then dying, or the thought of dying, becomes nothing."

"So, even though my mind tells me different, I have to believe that I'm dead."

"Yes, exactly. To someone who is not a soldier, this might sound preposterous, but they don't stare death in the face every day."

Kendrick thought for a moment. "How do you convince yourself that you're dead?"

The man just smiled. "Everyone has their own way. You'll soon find yours."

When they arrived back at the barn, Kendrick decided to stay outside a little longer. Once he was alone, he sat on a nearby stump and gazed skyward at the stars twinkling overhead. It was amazing how they could still shine so brightly with war raging at its ugliest down below. Every day that passed brought him closer to Warsaw and David. Surely, by now, news of Germany's invasion had spread all over Poland, and Kendrick worried constantly about his friend. He knew Warsaw, as well as several other towns, had been bombed on the first day, but until he could somehow get close enough to where David was, he'd have to hope for the best. Oddly, there were times when he wished the brunet could be fighting along beside him. David was strong and daring, more so than some of the soldiers in Kendrick's platoon. Without a doubt, if David ever became a soldier, the two of them would make a formidable team.

As the night around him grew quieter, Kendrick tried to enjoy its last peaceful moments because tomorrow would bring back the reality of war again. What he couldn't get out of his mind was how someone who was very much alive, begin to convince himself that he was already dead?

* * *

_September 17, 1939_

The sound of loud voices woke David out of his slumber. He rolled over and saw that Michael was still asleep. Warily, he eased out of bed, and padded out the door towards the source of the noise, the kitchen. The early morning sun was cutting in through the open curtains, backlighting the two men sitting side by side at the table. As soon as Jakob and Uncle Emir saw him, they lowered their voices. Wide awake now, David helped himself to a cup of coffee and listened in on their conversation.

"I think we just need to stay put," Jakob insisted. "England has declared war on Germany. The French will be here before long. If we leave now, unless we go east, we'll be running right into the fighting. We're safer staying here."

"What are you saying? Warsaw has already been bombed—Poland is finished, Jakob. The Krauts aren't even walking; they're running across this country. We need to get out while there is still a chance. If we stay here…" Uncle Emir glanced over at David. "I think you know what will happen."

"What I know, brother, is that the Jews are not welcome _anywhere._ Do you honestly think we can go to Russia? With no place to stay, and no one that we know? We can't afford to panic."

"Who says I'm panicking? I just want to get out of here before the Germans start planting potatoes in our garden." Uncle Emir shook his head and looked over at David. "Nephew, what have you got to say?"

Surprised, David peered up from sipping his coffee. No adult had ever asked his opinion before. Were things really becoming that desperate?

"I'm worried about Hannah," he said, sitting down at the table. "We don't know for certain where the Germans are…but at least they're not _here_."

"Do you think you're safe staying here, then?" Uncle Emir demanded.

"For now," David answered. "Papa is right; England will start fighting the Germans, and they'll have to retreat."

Uncle Emir sighed heavily. "So—I'm overruled, but mark my words, the day will come when you'll wish we had escaped."

He got up, grabbed his jacket and went out the front door. A few moments later, David heard the Opel start up and drive away. He turned to Jakob, who looked particularly tired this morning.

"What do you think will happen when the Germans get here?" David asked.

Jakob's eyebrows rose, seemingly surprised at the question. "Probably the same things as before," he replied solemnly. "Maybe worse, certainly not better."

"What about going to America, Papa? Wouldn't it be better than staying here or heading east?"

"No," he answered, shaking his head. "We don't have near enough money. We'll just have to trust our fate to Jehovah." He took a sip of coffee. "Where is your cousin? Shouldn't you two be going to work?"

"Not until noon," David replied. "There haven't been any new deliveries for the last couple of days. There's not much left on the shelves."

"Yes, war has that effect," Jakob grumbled. "It's times like these, I'm glad your mother isn't here to suffer through them. I miss her, though."

David nodded slightly. He understood his father's pain. If Hannah wasn't here, he couldn't bear living in this place. Having Michael around was good, but Hannah made his life whole. The memory of their special night a few weeks ago began to surface, making him smile contently. His fears about whether Hannah was enjoying their love making had disappeared by the following night when she'd asked him to return to her bed. But those remembrances were interrupted when his cousin shuffled into the kitchen.

"Michael, you look like you were up all night. Are you ill?" Jakob asked.

"I'm fine, Uncle. I just didn't sleep very well."

"I don't think you were the only one," Jakob grumbled as he got up from the table. "Here, sit down by David and I'll fix you some breakfast. The hens laid a few eggs this morning."

Michael took Jakob's seat and turned to David. "Is Hannah still asleep?" he asked, his eyes barely open.

"I think so." David smiled as an idea came to mind. Taking his cup, he got up and fetched another one. He filled it to the brim, and carefully carried the steaming mugs over to Hannah's bedroom. Placing both in one hand, he knocked on the door and called her name before going in.

Hannah let out a big smile when she saw him and shifted over on the bed, giving him a place to sit down.

"Well, what's this?" she asked, sounding slightly hoarse. "Are you serving me breakfast in bed?"

David waited as she propped herself up against the headboard. He handed her a cup and sat on the mattress. "I don't know about breakfast, but I brought you some coffee."

She took a sip, and glanced over to the window. "What time is it?"

"Around eight, I think. Papa's fixing some eggs for breakfast."

"That sounds good," she said and took another sip. "This was very nice. Thank you."

David leaned forward and gave her a warm kiss. "I'll let you get dressed—," then in a more seductive tone said, "Unless you want me to stay here and watch."

Hannah playfully shoved him on the shoulder. "Go on, you _dumkopf_!"

Back in the kitchen, David helped Michael set the table.

"I never can remember, do the forks go on the right or left side?" Michael asked, holding a large handful of silverware.

"Well it depends," David began, as seriously as he could. "If you're right-handed they go on the right—left-handed goes on the other side." As he set the dishes out, he kept his eyes glued on Michael, wanting to see if his young cousin fell for the ridiculous explanation.

Just before David got to relish in his joke, Jakob spoiled the moment. "David…" he admonished.

Before Michael could express his displeasure, David hastily asked, "Should I put a plate out for Uncle Emir, Papa?"

Keeping his concentration on the frying pan, Jakob answered, "Yes, go ahead. I'm sure he'll be returning home soon."

Hannah entered the kitchen, dressed in a white blouse and plaid skirt. She pulled her hair back to tie it in a ponytail. "Is there anything I can do, Father Jakob?"

"No, my dear. This morning, it is the men who are doing the cooking."

"Does that mean the women are still doing the cleaning?" Michael asked, sounding serious.

"I don't think it would hurt you to wash a few dishes," Jakob remarked, waving the spatula at him.

Seeing the disappointed looked on Michael's face, David said, "Don't worry, cousin. We won't tell Alina you were doing women's work."

That produced a round of instant chuckling from everyone, except for Michael who showed one of his more aggravated smirks. Jakob took the frying pan off of the stove and told everyone to have a seat at the table. They had all just started to eat when the screeching sound of the Opel pulling up outside got their attention. Within a few seconds, Uncle Emir came rushing in.

"It's the Russians!" he gasped, nearly out of breath. "They've attacked Poland!"

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**Chapter 9**

David, Michael and Hannah stood outside of the city government building, reading the latest notice posted by the German occupying forces. In the last month, there had been almost daily announcements of new laws and decrees aimed at Jews. Today, there was also one for Poles.

"_Arbeitspflicht_," Michael read aloud. "_This decree from the General Government orders all Polish males and females over 14 and under 60 years of age to report for public work under the direction of the Department of Labor._"

"Does it say how much they will pay?" Hannah asked.

"I don't think they're planning to pay anyone," David commented. He looked over at the other notice on the board and began reading parts of it out loud. "_Zwangsarbeit_: _All Jews must register for labor with the city police under supervision of the supreme police commander. A curfew is to be in effect immediately from 9 P.M. until 5:30 A.M. Jews cannot withdraw deposits, securities, cash or gold from the banks, and are limited to withdrawals of 200 zlotys per week. A Jewish family cannot possess more than 2,000 zlotys in cash._"

"Two thousand? That's all?" Michael asked incredulously.

"Hardly enough money to last a month," Hannah said. "Why are they only allowing so little?"

"I don't see how someone would know if you're a Jew or not," reasoned Michael. "It's not like we've got a big 'J' tattooed on our foreheads."

"Don't be giving them any ideas, cousin." David grabbed a hold of Hannah's hand. "Come on. Let's get home and tell Uncle Emir about the Nazi's latest greetings."

* * *

"May I join you, Kendrick?"

Kendrick snapped out of his mental daze and looked up to see Private Frank standing beside him. William, or "Willy" as he was called, had been a classmate of Kendrick's, and now they were in the same regiment. At the moment, Kendrick wanted to be alone so he could smoke in peace, but to deny such a request from a fellow soldier would be rude.

"Have a seat," Kendrick replied, motioning to a portion of a demolished brick wall. A large chunk remained intact, with just enough space to sit on.

Willy nodded appreciably and pulled his helmet off. He set his rifle to the side and, with a tired groan, carelessly flopped down. After letting out a deep sigh, he reached into a shirt pocket and pulled out a pack of smokes. He stuck one in his mouth, and patted around his chest.

"Can you spare a light?" he asked.

Kendrick took the lit cigarette out of his mouth and handed it over. He couldn't help but notice how the sunlight reddened Willy's cheeks and highlighted his sable brown hair, making him look too young to be the battle-weary soldier that he was. That they both were.

Sucking in air, Willy butted the lit end together with his until he could blow out puffs of smoke. "_Danke shoen_," he said, giving the cigarette back.

For a long moment, both sat quietly and gazed over the scenery. Several bombed buildings stood empty and ruined, silent monuments to a successful Luftwaffe strike several days ago. Kendrick raked a hand through his hair, pushing a stray strand out of his face. The sun felt good, but it was also very bright. Closing his eyes, he let himself become lost in the silence again. After what had happened earlier that day, he needed to turn his senses off and let himself go completely numb.

Willy leaned back against a section of wall. Disturbing Kendrick's meditation, he said, "You know, when we were being taught to fight, I always imagined that we'd be killing enemy _soldiers_. Is that what you thought?"

Kendrick took a long drag, and slowly exhaled. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

A pleased look came over Willy's face. "I'm glad you agree. I wasn't sure if I was the only one who had trouble…this morning."

Kendrick sighed deeply as he leaned forward. Obviously, he'd have to wait until later to try and calm his conscience. "They're enemies of the state—hostiles that need to be sent to death mercilessly and without compassion," he recited, remembering every word his sergeant had said just before giving the execution order.

Willy snorted and cussed under his breath. "_Ja_. That's what this war is all about, right? _Lebensraum_? Living space? Out with the Poles, in with the Germans." He shook his head and pulled in a long pull on his cigarette. "I grew up near Dusseldorf, on a farm. We had plenty of space. I guess Hitler hasn't spent much time out of the big cities."

Kendrick found himself nodding in agreement. He couldn't remember ever seeing news clips of the Fuhrer walking in the middle of a farm field. Maybe Willy had a point.

"Did you take the heart or the head?"

The question threw Kendrick for a moment, giving the gory reality of the massacre a chance to materialize in front of him again.

"The heart," he answered.

"Ah. I think, if I must do this again, that is what I would prefer."

Trying to shut out the unwanted visions, Kendrick recited more of his superior's speech. "We've got to be tough, or else we will lose the war. There is no room for pity of any kind…"

A sad look flashed across Willy's face. "So, we either turn into monsters or mental cases—what a choice. I just hope this war doesn't last very much longer."

Kendrick inhaled one last time and put the butt out on the sole of his boot. For him, the war had already gone on far too long.

* * *

David came into the bedroom and closed the door. Startled, Michael looked up over the top of the Polish-English dictionary he held.

"Why did you close the door?" Michael asked, setting the book down on the bed.

"I don't want to listen to Uncle Emir anymore. He makes it sound like the Germans want to throw everyone into a concentration camp. That's just ridiculous." David pulled the desk chair out and, turning it around, sat down facing the backrest. "If they want us for work, then why send us off to someplace like that? It just doesn't make sense."

His cousin sat up and folded his legs. "He does get a bit excited, but he usually doesn't say anything he can't prove."

"Humph." David glanced down at Michael's book. "Are you still planning on trying to get to England?"

Michael sighed heavily. "I don't think I can anymore. All the borders are cut off, and even if I could get on a boat, they'd probably toss me on one heading right back again." Michael stared up at him. "I guess _we're_ in the same boat—cousin," he said with a crooked smile.

David smiled in return. "Maybe you're right, for a change."

"Funny," Michael answered tartly. "So where's Hannah?"

"Taking a bath." David laid both arms on top of the chair back. "She's really been worried. She's afraid we'll get separated because of this forced labor law."

Michael gave a snort. "I'll say she doesn't want to be separated from you," he said slyly.

"What do you mean by that?" David sat up straight, irked at his cousin's tone.

"Well, considering how I've had the whole bed to myself lately, I'd guess she's either telling you some good bedtime stories, or you two are trying to start a family."

David felt himself blush. "That's none of your business," he said prudishly.

Michael unwound his legs and stretched out on his stomach. "So, are both of you still virgins?"

"What are you, the local busybody? I told you, it's none of your business." The smug look on Michael's face faded, replaced by a sadness David hadn't seen since he'd talked about losing his father. "What about Alina?" David asked, trying to lighten things. "Have you two, you know, been _together_?"

Michael's eyes dipped. "No," he answered flatly. "She doesn't want to lose her virginity until she's married."

"Do you love her?"

"Of course I do…but getting married…now?" He shook his head. "I'd be like you. With a good woman who loves me, but no home to live in."

David bowed his head, acknowledging the truth. As a husband, he was failing miserably, and Hannah's tiny bedroom seemed destined to be the closest they'd ever get to having a place of their own. Even the few moments of bliss he was able to give her during sex wasn't much to boast about. For a moment, he envied his younger cousin. At least Michael wasn't thinking with his dick first. Maybe it was time for him to start accepting full responsibility as a husband, and quit blaming the war and the Nazis for keeping him from fulfilling his promises.

"David?" Michael's voice interrupted his thoughts. "I didn't mean…I didn't mean to make it sound like you weren't a good husband."

"I know you didn't. But Michael," he cautioned, "don't let Alina go. If you love her, then stick with her."

He got up and left the room, needing some time by himself. Pausing by the kitchen, David wasn't surprised that Jakob and Emir were still talking at the table. Not wanting to disturb them, he went into the parlor. Looking at the clock on the fireplace mantle, David saw that it was a quarter to nine. Curfew would start in fifteen minutes. With nowhere else to go, David headed out the front door, not caring about the curfew, or the cold air when it struck his face.

The night sky was brilliantly clear, and for a moment he just stood and looked at the star-filled heavens. He hadn't heard from anything from Kendrick in the last month and a half, and was starting to feel alone and deserted, emotionally hurt that his best friend hadn't written. But a part of him couldn't help but consider the worst. Had Kendrick been killed while fighting for a country that believed it had the power to decide which races were good or bad? Or was he one of 'them' now—afraid to admit that he once had a Jewish friend?

David walked over to the firewood stack and sat down on a large unsplit piece of wood. Immersing himself in the evening's quiet, he gradually relaxed. Like the welcome warmth from a wood stove, memories of his mother gradually seeped into his mind. Her soft voice, and the way she could sense when something was bothering him and know how to fix it. He missed all that. She would've loved Hannah. He could see the two forming an impenetrable force of womanhood that neither he nor Papa could ever reign over. But that was just a fantasy, a lovely dream that would never come true—not in this life.

Sensing it was time for the prisoner to head back to his cell, David took one last look at the twinkling stars overhead. He picked out a particularly bright one and silently made a plea. Sticking his hands deep into his jacket, he got up and went back inside.

* * *

"Are you sure you read the notice correctly, David?" Uncle Emir asked as he walked stiffly on the icy ground in front of David and Hannah.

"The sign was posted in Polish and German, Uncle. Both said the same thing." David thought about Jakob and Michael, home in bed and sick with the flu. News like this was only going to make them feel worse.

The three of them marched up the snow-covered steps to the front entrance of the government building. Once there, they waited until another small group finished reading the latest posting for Polish Jews and moved off in apparent disgust. Uncle Emir reached inside his coat and pulled out a set of reading glasses. As if just seeing the notice in person wasn't enough, he read it out loud.

"_All Jews and Jewesses within the General Government who are over ten years of age are required, beginning December 1, 1939, to wear on the right sleeve of their inner and outer garments a white band at least 4 inches wide, with the blue Star of David on it. The star must measure 8cm from point to point and the width of the arms of the star 1cm. Jews who do not respect this decree will be severely punished."_

David felt himself cringing again at the newest law. Now, wherever they went, people would know who they were, where they worked and where they lived. They could no longer remain anonymous. He reached over and grabbed Hannah's hand, needing to feel warmth of any kind. The temperature had seemed to drop precipitously in the last hour, and not just in the air around him.

"Those _dupeks_!" Uncle Emir swore. He turned around and looked at David and Hannah. "This is only the beginning, trust me." With shaking hands, he took off his glasses and placed them back in his coat pocket. "Come, let's go home and tell this to your Papa."

He brushed past them and stomped back down to the Opel.

Hannah looked at David before following Emir. "Do you think he's right?" she asked, grabbing the lapels from her coat and tightening them against her chin. "It's only an arm band."

"Hannah…" David stopped as a pair of German soldiers walked by on the sidewalk below them. They stared at the couple for a few moments, then turned their attention back to the street. "Yes, it's just an arm band," David continued, "but you saw how those Nazis were looking at us. Imagine what that will feel like when everyone who hates Jews can see who we are."

"I know," Hannah said, dipping her head. "I just don't understand what makes us so bad." Hannah lifted her head, staring into his eyes. "Why do people hate us so much?"

Stunned by the question, David tried to think of a meaningful answer. He wished he could calm the fear and worry that lay behind those brown eyes; if only he knew how.

"I don't know," he admitted, dejectedly. Taking Hannah's hand, he led her down the steps.

"Whatever happens, David, I'll always feel safe with you."

David stopped and turned to face this remarkable woman. Whatever he'd done to deserve her, he didn't think he was worth it. But as each day went by, bringing with it either good news or more of the bad, it was only bearable because of her unconditional love for him. He'd never imagined the depth of caring that one person could feel for another until he'd met her. The only thing he feared most, was not having her by his side.

"Hannah Rivka, I love you," he confessed. Cupping her cheeks, David dipped his head and gave her the most passionate kiss that he could.

* * *

Kendrick stepped off the tram and took a good look around the city square, wondering if he would notice any changes. Despite the cold weather, many people were out, going about their business and mingling in small groups. Over to his right there was the large fountain that he had always admired, with two bronze stallions rearing up in the center. The copper color contrasted beautifully with the white coating of snow on the horses' heads and backs. Even without the water running, people glanced at the impressive statue as they walked by, some even taking a moment to sit down on the circular stone basin. He wasn't sure why he'd expected anything in the city to have changed much in the last nine months, but nothing appeared different from the last time he had been there.

Adjusting his hat, he started walking towards home, fully aware of the people on the street staring appreciably at him. No doubt, his dress uniform looked sharp; at least ten times better than his old Hitler Youth clothing. The only thing that felt 'off' was that he'd normally be carrying his rifle with him, not the bulky duffle bag that pulled relentlessly at his tired arm. It would've been much lighter if he hadn't decided to buy a large bottle of wine and some extra Christmas presents for Mother and Poppa.

Just as he approached his old apartment building, Kendrick abruptly changed direction and walked over to the small park across the street. It took a few minutes, but he was able to find the bench where he and David had sat when David came to visit on his thirteenth birthday. Kendrick set his bag on the ground and brushed off enough of the thin layer of snow to sit down. He stared out over the nearly deserted park and thought about the last conversation he had with his friend. Now, all these years later, Kendrick suddenly realized just how naïve he'd been. Even then, David knew he'd been humiliated by Kendrick's parents, yet he'd never showed any animosity or shame. It was as if he didn't care that everyone else in the world hated him. As long as he had Kendrick's friendship, that was all that mattered.

And David definitely had his friendship, along with his trust, admiration, and above all, his appreciation for giving him something he desperately needed when no adult could. Kendrick would probably never figure out how David knew what that 'something' was, but he'd be forever thankful for it.

Reaching into his coat pocket, Kendrick retrieved a small, worn envelope, the flap crinkled and warped from overuse. He pulled out the single page and carefully went over each handwritten line. David's letter had reached him just before he'd left for the Polish front. Kendrick had kept it tucked in his shirt, afraid he might lose it otherwise. Several times during the last months, he'd fretted over the fact he couldn't write David back, knowing his friend probably thought the worst had happened.

But now, Kendrick was home for a few days and planned to fulfill a specific request in David's letter. It was a small favor, but very important to a dearly loved friend. The only thing that stood in the way was whether he had time to complete his task and get word back to David—if, in fact, he was still even in Poland.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks for reading everyone!

.

**Chapter 10**

"But Kendrick, why are you leaving? You're only home for such a short time. Can't you just stay here and visit longer?" Helda said in a shaky voice. His mother stood like a stone wall blocking the front door, holding Kendrick at bay. Her unyielding stance and pleading tone only proved that she was scared to let him out of the warmth and safety of her four-walled cocoon. But this was Kendrick's third and final day on furlough, and time was running out.

"I'll be back before dinner, Mother. I just need to run a few errands."

"Can't those wait until you come home again?" she pleaded.

"Helda, let him go." Kendrick's father remarked as he put his pipe down and got up from his reading chair. "He's a grown man now—a _Waffen-__Schutzstaffel_ soldier! And probably in need of some special _alone_ time."

Kendrick rolled his eyes. He knew his father was implying something that definitely would not involve his son being alone.

"Oh _liebchen_, _must_ you really?" She turned to face Kendrick again. "Dinner will be ready at six. Can you at least be home by then?"

"Yes, mother."

Kendrick slipped out the door before she could find a way to keep him any longer. He hurried down to the street and hopped on the first trolley heading to the west side of town.

Since he was wearing civilian clothes, Kendrick wasn't apprehensive about drawing unwelcome attention, considering where he was going. He'd only been to Hannah's apartment oncebefore, but was sure he could find it again. Twenty minutes later, he stepped off the tram at the Leipziger Platz, a stop which he remembered from before. He wandered along cobblestone streets through the old neighborhood for nearly an hour, yet didn't see anything familiar. But then a unique little tobacco store caught his eye, and he walked the remaining few blocks, certain of where he was headed.

He crossed through an empty lot, taking the same shortcut that David had shown him, and turned at the next corner. There was the three story building, right across the street. It was smaller than he'd remembered, but size wasn't the only thing that looked different. Every window and door on the first floor had been boarded up, making the building look dark and uninhabited. Kendrick walked closer, studying the structure from top to bottom, but there was no mistaking; it was vacant.

An older woman walked toward him, carrying a shopping bag.

"Excuse me, _bitte_," he said. "Do you know how long this building has been empty?"

"Ah, _ja_! It was taken over by the government, _Gott sei dank_! Soon, there will only be good German families moving in."

Kendrick's stomach tightened. "Then the people that used to live here…"

"Gone, all of them. Where, I do not know and I don't care. We are much better without them."

"_Danke, frau_," Kendrick said with more courtesy than he felt she deserved.

As the woman continued on down the sidewalk, Kendrick gazed back at the building. He'd come all this way—there had to be something he could do. Looking for some sort of access, he walked around to the rear of the building. Luckily, one of the back doors had a single board nailed across the door frame, and Kendrick pried it off with little effort. He went inside and found the set of stairs that led up to the second floor. Halfway down the hall was apartment number 210.

He almost knocked, but realized no one would answer. Tentatively, he reached for the door knob and let himself in. When the door swung open, Kendrick gasped at what he saw. Furniture lay strewn all around the room. A couch, dining room table, chairs—even a china cabinet cluttered the floor. Curtains were ripped from their rods and even sections of wallpaper hadn't escaped the destructive rampage. Kendrick went into the bedrooms and found the same thing. The beds were stripped of their linens, and the frames and mattresses left upended and destroyed. A few pictures still hung on the walls and rugs covered walkways on the floor, but nearly everything else had been damaged beyond repair.

Kendrick dipped his head. The people who had lived in this building only a few months ago were now somewhere else, deprived of a significant amount of their possessions. A sense of despair hit, partly because of what he'd found, but also because he knew there'd be no way to fulfill David's wish. His friend had written about Hannah being so homesick and wanted Kendrick to ask her parents if there was anything they could send to make her feel better. Now, not only would he have to deny Hannah any keepsakes, but he'd also have to break the news that her parents were nowhere to be found.

As Kendrick prepared to leave, something lying at the foot of an overturned dresser caught his attention. He bent down and picked up the small photograph. It was a picture of Hannah, probably taken just a few years ago. He checked the dresser drawers and scanned the floor under other pieces of furniture, but the little photo was the only personal item he could find. Sticking it in his shirt pocket, he gave the wrecked apartment one last look and went out the front door, closing it behind him.

* * *

On their way to work, David and Michael strolled through the market near the town square. As usual, thick crowds were milling around the different stalls, but the number of Jewish venders had dwindled significantly in the last few months. No wonder, since the restrictions placed on them by the government changed almost daily. Sometimes their shops were allowed to open, other times they had to stay closed. The boys had even heard of some businesses being seized without any sort of payment to the owners. When they reached the food store, both froze at the sign posted on the front door.

"NO JEWS ALLOWED"

"Vladyck would never put up a sign like that." David uttered in shock. Just like that, three words written on a sign had stripped him of his job. Angry now, he wondered if Michael still had his. "Something must have happened. Go in and see what you can find out."

Michael didn't move, instead he just looked at the white arm band on David's left sleeve. "I don't want to go in there by myself," he admitted, raising his eyes to meet David's.

"It's not like this is a big surprise," David said as he stepped away from the entrance. "Everybody hates us now. You'll be all right; people still think you're not a Jew."

"This wasn't my idea—" Michael replied sullenly. "I don't like pretending to be someone I'm not."

David studied his cousin's face. His usual smile was gone, replaced with a sad expression that seemed to emerge when he talked about his father or was struggling with his faith. Lately, he'd been thinking about going back to temple, but was still finding it hard to embrace the same religion that Malakhi had so fervently devoted his life to. Losing a father at such a young age must have been tough, and Michael had certainly shouldered a lot of self-doubt. If there could just be some way David could convince his cousin that he was stronger than he thought.

"Michael, look," David said, glancing around to make sure they were still alone. "You're lucky you got your _ausweis_ when you were young so it doesn't identify you as a Jew."

"But being a Pole is just as bad—"

"No! It's not! You can still buy things the rest of us can't. You won't be shot if you're out past curfew. Don't you see? By pretending you're not Jewish, you're helping our family._ We_ know the truth, and that's all that matters."

Michael's shoulders sagged. "You'll be waiting out here?" he asked with a sigh.

"Where else would I go?"

Michael dug his hands into his pockets and went inside the store. After a few minutes, he came back out, his face reddened with anger.

"What'd you find out?" David asked.

"Vladyck's gone. Some German owns the store now."

Although David was tempted, he didn't ask what 'gone' meant. "Well, I'll go back home," he said, just wanting to leave and be alone in his misery. He had no idea where he'd find another job now, especially one where he could work indoors in the middle of winter. "See you at dinner."

"No, you won't. I'm going home with you."

David stopped in mid-step and pivoted around. "Michael, you have to stay here and work."

"I quit," he declared. "I'm not working for some German _dupek_."

"Mi…" David didn't finish. Michael knew what he was doing and didn't need someone explaining what the consequences would be.

So far, the teenager had avoided being sent out to the local farms as mandatory labor, mostly because he looked younger than fifteen. The fact that he worked inside during the day, away from prying Nazi eyes, had also been a plus. Their town wasn't very big and relatively few German soldiers patrolled the streets. Nonetheless, it was still very dangerous to be stopped by one of them. David had heard rumors that anyone caught without an identity card or not wearing their armband could be shot without a moment's hesitation.

"C'mon," David said. He raised an arm to put it around Michael's shoulders, then thought twice and hastily dropped it before anyone saw him. "Let's go home."

* * *

David sat at the kitchen table with Uncle Emir, watching with interest as he resoled a pair of boots for a customer. Money had gotten very tight in the last couple of months. Michael had found another job at a small box making factory in town, but only worked a few days each week. Jakob was earning a little cash chopping firewood, and Uncle Emir had pulled out his old tools and gone back to repairing shoes. Hannah occasionally did a few chores for some of Emir's older neighbors, but they were poor and usually couldn't offer more than a few potatoes or some goat's milk for payment. With spring finally approaching, David hoped to find work somewhere, but so far it'd been a long winter.

He looked up from the repair work when Hannah rushed in through the front door.

"Uncle," she called, "there are some people outside again." She came into the kitchen and stood by the table. "They want to know if we have any extra food."

"Are they Jews?" Emir asked, sounding indifferent.

"Yes, a family with three small children." The sympathy in Hannah's voice was unmistakable.

With a tired huff, Uncle Emir got up and went to the kitchen counter. He grabbed a knife from the cabinet drawer and sliced off a chunk of bread from the loaf he'd just baked this morning.

"Here," he said, handing it to Hannah.

"Thank you, Uncle," she replied, wrapping the bread in an old napkin before hastily turning to leave.

"_Thank you, Uncle_," Emir repeated mockingly. "Let's see how much you'll be thanking me when we're all starving!"

Whether Hannah heard him or not was hard to tell as the screen door slammed shut before Uncle Emir had finished talking.

"Every day there seems to be more and more of them," David remarked. For weeks now, uprooted Jews had been arriving in town, kicked off of the trains whenever and wherever the Nazis felt like it. Many had said they were being deported to make room for ethnic Germans moving in. It all seemed to be a part of Hitler's grand plan—to sweep the Jews farther and farther east so land could be freed up for hundreds of thousands of eager Aryan settlers. "Michael said he heard people talking about Jews being sent to ghettos…in Lodz and Krakow. They think before long Warsaw will have one, too."

"Yes, I think so, too." Uncle Emir stood at the kitchen sink, his mind and attention seemingly focused on the view outside the window.

David noticed that he had been especially quiet these last few days, except for the occasional outburst. There was no doubt Uncle Emir loved Poland, and it wasn't hard to see he was losing the hope that his beloved country would never change. The constant posting of new laws, all designed to strip Jews of their freedoms and assets, was the most tangible sign of this change. But there were others, like the attitudes of people on the street when they saw the distinctive Star of David arm bands; even friends and neighbors that Uncle Emir must have known for decades were now cold and distant towards him. It was though the Jews had become the latest resurrection of the Black Plague and had to be swept off into some dark corner, never to be seen or heard from again.

Leaving his uncle staring out the window, David went outside in search of Hannah. She was just saying goodbye to the travelers and watched as the pathetic group, carrying large bundles of clothing and mattress pads, shuffled down the dusty road. The oldest child looked to be about nine.

"They said they are from Leipzig," Hannah said. "They were given one day to pack what they could before being thrown out onto the street. That's not too far from where we used to live. Do you think that's what happened to my parents? Why I haven't heard from them in so long?"

David took her in his arms. "Hannah, it's not good to worry yourself sick. I'm sure they're alright."

He hated lying to her like this. Kendrick's letter had arrived a month ago, and since then David had known what was going on with the Jews in Germany. Telling Hannah that her parents were missing without a good deal of their possessions would've only upset her more, and he couldn't do that.

"If they did have to leave, maybe they don't have a new address yet. But I'm sure they're thinking about you every day," he said, hoping to reassure her.

Hannah's eyes met his, her face a mixture of disbelief and sadness. "I'd rather be worrying about the truth, than all the things that could be happening," she said. "Not knowing is the hardest."

Hearing those thoughts, David felt even worse for not being honest with her. But if he told Hannah what he knew, it would only create more uncertainty instead of easing her worries. "Until you know for sure, there's always the hope that they're some place safe," he offered.

She weakly nodded her head and headed back inside the house. David looked down the road at the departing family, just mere specks by now. He wished he knew more about Hannah's parents, even if it wasn't encouraging news. Hannah was right; not knowing had to be the worst feeling, but it came very close to knowing the awful truth.

* * *

Marching in formation on a narrow country road in the middle of nowhere, Kendrick tried hard to keep out of the ruts filled with thick mud. Steady rain over the last two days, combined with the stomping feet of a hundred men in front of him, had made this thin path through rural Poland more fit for a herd of wallowing pigs than a means of travel. Although he was glad the bitter cold temperatures and snow had ended, the frozen ground hadn't been as difficult to walk on.

He scanned the mid-morning horizon, still draped in low gray clouds and mist. Looking towards the northeast, across the insanely flat landscape, Kendrick tried to imagine seeing David's town. The road sign his platoon had passed about an hour ago indicated they were 74 kilometers away.

Kendrick wasn't sure if that was where they were heading. If it was, they'd probably be relieving troops stationed nearby, or if not, reinforcing pockets of thinly spread regiments elsewhere. Either way, he felt renewed just being this close to his friend. When he nearly tripped on a partially submerged rock, Kendrick was forced to turn his attention back to the road and its foul-smelling muck. He wondered whether David enjoyed being in this country any more than he did.

* * *

The afternoon sun was sinking low as David, Michael and Hannah began to walk home from their latest shopping trip. Their only successful purchase had been from a market vender selling potatoes out of his farm truck. By the time they'd heard of the clandestine merchant, he'd managed to sell all but two kilos. He must've thought he was holding on to a gold mine; his initial asking price was nearly three times the normal cost. However, Hannah had come through, securing a more reasonable amount for the group when she convinced the man she was pregnant.

They were still laughing about the hoax when, on the street in front of them, a lorry covered with a tarpaulin quickly pulled out and blocked the road. Because of a group of people walking in front of him, David couldn't immediately see who was driving the truck. It was only when someone in the crowd yelled '_Gendarmes_!' that everyone started to panic.

"It's a _lapanka_!" Michael cried, turning to run the other way.

David grabbed Hannah's hand and started running right behind his cousin. They hadn't gotten more than twenty meters when another truck pulled out and blocked their exit, this one loaded with nearly a dozen police officers.

Momentarily caught in the confused crowd, David looked desperately for an exit. His frantic search was interrupted by Michael's yelling.

"There! Over there!" He pointed across the street to a tiny separation between two brick buildings. "That comes out near the Langestrasse."

An unexpected discharge of rifle shots drew loud screams from the crowd. Several gendarmes were already on the ground, grabbing people left and right. If the trio were going to chance an escape, they had to go now. David yanked Hannah and dashed towards the slim opening.

Just before they reached the sidewalk, Hannah pulled back.

"They've got Michael!" she cried.

David looked behind her and saw Michael caught in the clutches of a tall police officer. Despite the height difference, Michael was kicking and punching like a madman.

"I need help with this one!" the officer yelled out.

David found himself torn between wanting to save his cousin and getting himself and Hannah to safety. The sight of another gendarme coming straight for them sealed his fate. Letting go of Hannah, he took the potato sack and swung it viciously right at the man's head. It struck with enough force to knock the officer off of his feet.

The solid hit gave them a few extra seconds to escape. Sliding sideways, David pushed Hannah ahead of him, both moving as fast as they could along the slimy, dirt-coated walls.

After what seemed like an eternity, they emerged onto another street. David glanced around quickly. He vaguely recognized the house lined street, but knew it eventually joined with another road that led to the market. "Come on," he yelled and grabbed Hannah's hand.

"Where are you going? Home is this way!" Hannah said, pointing in the opposite direction.

"I've got to see Michael," David panted. "I need to know if he's okay."

Dashing to the first intersection, David stopped and peered around the corner. Over on the next block he could see the rear end of the first truck, but nothing else. He stepped off of the sidewalk and looked back at the row of buildings they had just passed. Spotting a small restaurant he hoped had an accessible roof, he grabbed Hannah and ran towards it. They slipped down the narrow alley along the side of the restaurant but when they got to the rear, David's heart broke. There wasn't any access to the roof, and the brick wall from another building prevented them from reaching the street Michael was on.

"Look," Hannah said, pointing to a large empty crate, "use this!"

She helped him drag the wooden box over to the side of the restaurant and steadied it as he crawled on top. Reaching as far as he could, David grabbed the top edge of the wall to hoist himself up, and from there clambered onto the roof. Luckily, the building that blocked their way to Michael was just a few feet taller. He easily climbed onto the flat, tarred surface and crept up to the front façade. Ducking behind the parapet, he peered down anxiously at the scene below.

Several people had been lined up against the wall across the street. Others were huddled in a small group by one of the trucks, guarded by a handful of SS soldiers who had joined their German cohorts in the roundup. David finally caught sight of Michael, just as he was roughly escorted in front of an SS officer. Bits of the man's loud voice traveled in the air, enough that he could hear Michael being asked for his identity card and something about work. Appearing dissatisfied, the officer ordered the teenager to join the others facing the wall. David's stomach sank. If they were going to be shot…

"David? What's happening? David!" Hannah's voice rose from below.

David quietly cursed, not wanting to look away for one second. Reluctantly, he hustled back to the rear wall.

"I think Michael might be getting arrested," he answered, keeping his voice low. "Just stay there and be quiet."

Hannah nodded, her face full of fear. There was still no guarantee the two of them were safe yet. David hastily returned to his observation spot and saw the people lined up with Michael now being loaded into the back of the lorry. His cousin looked around, perhaps making sure David and Hannah had gotten away. He wanted to wave his arm, let Michael know he was there, but he couldn't risk drawing attention to himself.

David heard the diesel engine start up and quickly wiped the tears out of his eyes so he could see his cousin clearly. But the truck turned the corner and, all too soon, Michael was gone.

.

For the last two hours, David had been alone in his room. He'd been sitting motionless on the bed, numb, the scene of Michael being grabbed playing over and over again in his mind. There must have been a way he could've saved him. But every time David tried to imagine a different scenario, Michael still ended up in the Nazis' hands.

With a considerable effort, David raised his head and looked at the framed picture on the dresser. He got up stiffly and went over to the photo. Lifting the small frame, David ran a couple of fingers over the glass, studying the image of his late uncle. Wherever Michael was, he'd miss having this last reminder of his father. A knock at the door snapped him out of his daze.

"David… _Zuninkeh_?"

He turned to see Jakob standing in the doorway. Placing the picture back on the dresser, David sat back on the bed. Jakob entered the room and closed the door behind him. Without a word, he walked over to David and laid a gentle hand on his head.

"You should come and eat something, my son. Staying here by yourself, it helps no one."

"I'm not hungry," David answered, keeping his head bowed.

"But you haven't had anything since breakfast. Uncle Emir has fixed you something special. Let's not have it go to waste."

"I can't, Papa. I can't even face him."

"Your own uncle? What have you got to be ashamed of?"

"Do I have to say it out loud?"

"Yes!"

David huffed out a sob. "I was a coward—"

"A coward?" Jakob exclaimed. "How can you say that?"

"Because I was more worried about not getting caught than trying to save Michael."

"David, that's not true. Hannah told us what happened. You barely escaped yourselves."

"I should've tried harder…"

Jakob sat down next to him, resting one hand on his shoulder. "You cannot blame yourself for what happened. Do you hear me? We will pray to almighty God to look after your cousin, keep him safe and well so he can return home. _This_ is how you can help him, not by sitting here punishing yourself."

"But he's not here…because of me."

"No, David, not _because_ of you."

Both men sat in silence. David waited for an epiphany, something that could jump out and tell him why this all had to happen. Jakob was probably hoping for the same thing. Soon, though, the reality of the day's events hit with a vengeance. With his mind in turmoil and screaming to be shut down, David turned to Jakob.

"Papa, I need to lie down."

Jakob squeezed his shoulder and stood up. "Get some rest then. I'll see you in the morning."

Once his father had left, David kicked off both shoes and stripped out of his shirt and pants. He couldn't think about Michael anymore, the process was just too painful. After shutting the light off, he slipped into bed. Throwing an arm across his face, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine life as it had been. For a moment, he could feel the presence of his cousin lying next to him; a whisper of a bedtime conversation and laughter teasing his ears. The knock at his door chased all that away.

"It's me," Hannah announced. David squinted when light from the hallway flooded in as the door opened. "Are you already in bed?" she asked. "Uncle Emir still had a few potatoes. He made some potato pancakes—they're very good."

David closed his eyes. He'd almost forgotten about the bag he'd left on the street. "I wonder if the damn _gendarmes _took the potatoes, too," he said harshly.

He felt the mattress dip and a hand settled on his chest. "Please don't feel like this," Hannah begged. "Michael fought so hard so we could get away. I know you wanted to help him, but then all three of us would've been caught." Her hand traveled up his body and she touched his cheek. "You did what you could, my husband, and you saved me."

David took hold of the delicate hand and pulled Hannah down beside him. They clung together as tightly as they could. With love and a sense of loss competing in an all-or-nothing battle, David let the pain spill out.

Michael was gone. He'd have to live with that, but, thank God, Hannah was still here; something real to cling to as the certainty of this war raged on like an out-of-control storm. And tonight he needed her there beside him, not as a lover, but as the other half of his soul—the part that was still capable of forgiveness and unspoiled by hate. Someday he might find that part inside of him again…

He hoped he'd live to see that day come.

.

**Chapter 11**

David sat alone at the kitchen table. He wanted to write a short letter to Kendrick, and tell him the news about Michael, but it was difficult to put the words on paper—as if writing everything down would prevent the incident from ever having a happy ending.

In addition to the bad news about Michael, David couldn't be sure where his family would be living by next month. In the last two weeks, hundreds of Jews had passed through the town on their way to Warsaw. The Germans were ridding small towns and villages of their Jewish populations and forcing them to move into the bigger cities. It was only a matter of time before his town underwent a similar deportation.

Pushing emotions aside, David dispassionately wrote out all of the latest news. For the last line, he scribbled,

"_Don't worry about me, I'll be okay. Keep your head down. Your friend, David_"

He folded the letter and stuck it in an envelope. After putting Kendrick's Feldpost number on front, David considered walking to the post office to mail it. Lately, he'd been staying indoors most of the time. Uncle Emir and Papa thought it'd be safer if he wasn't out during the day, when the lapankas generally took place. David had reluctantly agreed, even though doing so preventing him from looking for work. Michael's old joke about becoming a thief was starting to become very tempting.

With a heavy sigh, David shoved that memory out of his head. He got up and went into the parlor to check the clock. Papa and Hannah had gone to the market, hoping to find some produce for sale. They had reasoned that, even if they were caught in a roundup, the gendarmes might be less likely to take an older man and young female off to a labor camp. Seeing that they'd only been gone an hour, David returned to the kitchen, feeling listless. He was grateful when he heard the rumbling of the Opel arriving in the front yard.

"Your Papa isn't home yet?" Uncle Emir asked, coming in the front door.

"No. Should we be worried?"

"I don't think so. There aren't many people out today—doesn't make for successful arrests. Here," he said, handing a burlap bag to David. "A friend had some extra tomatoes. Set these on the window sill; they should ripen in a few days."

Opening the bag, David took out each tomato and placed them in a line from smallest to biggest. When he got down to the last green fruit, his uncle came and stood beside him.

"David, I want to give you something," he said, handing him a small, purple-colored pouch. "You can do whatever you want with this, but I would hold on to it as long as I could. In war, it is good to have things like this."

Curious, David took the velvet sack and loosened the rawhide strap at the top. When he turned the pouch upside down, a gold ring and two small diamonds spilled out into his palm.

"Uncle!" David gasped, amazed at what he was holding. "I can't accept something like this!"

"Think of it as a wedding present," Uncle Emir said with a smile. His eyes drifted past David and scanned the kitchen, as if he was seeing it for the last time. "I worked very hard for all this. My Rosa, God rest her soul, was always by my side—during good times and bad. I've had a long life, nephew, but yours is just starting. I only wish things were not so troubled. You are a hard worker, and Hannah is a lovely woman. Your Papa—is very proud of you."

David dipped his head. It was comforting to hear these words, but he had no reason to feel proud of himself—especially after losing Michael.

"Sometime this afternoon, a man will be coming here to take the car." Uncle Emir raised his hand and dangled the set of keys in front of David's face. "I thought you might enjoy driving it before it goes to its new home. Besides, you've made that engine run better than it's ever run before."

"I…I don't have a license, Uncle," stammered David, hardly believing the man's gesture. He'd never seen Emir let anyone drive his car.

"We'll stay away from the main part of town. Just don't run over any gendarmes."

David caught the slight wink. He carefully placed the ring and diamonds back into the pouch and tucked it inside of his pants pocket. Taking the set of keys, he led the way out through the front door. For the first time in a long while, David felt a sense of pleasant anticipation race through his body.

* * *

"So, you like to drive?" Starsky asked, his eyelids only half as open as they had been fifteen minutes ago. That was when a nurse had come and injected a long-awaited dose of pain medication into his IV line.

David had suggested more than once that his audience could wait until a later time to hear his story, but Starsky had adamantly refused. In a way, it was a blessing to see he had inherited his father's stubborn disposition, but since David had some of those same genes, he knew it wasn't always a desirable trait. Knowing there was only one way to deal with this kind of personality, David shot a glance toward Hutch, mentally urging him to intercede.

"C'mon, Starsk, you already skipped your nap this afternoon. I bet David and Kendrick are ready to grab a bite to eat."

Starsky glared at his partner. "Geez, Hutch. You gonna tell me when it's time to wash my face and brush my teeth, too?"

"I do that every day anyway, buddy," he answered with a satisfied grin.

"Okay…mommy, under one condition—that you take 'em out for dinner somewhere nice. None of those rabbit food places, unless that's what you guys like to eat?" Starsky said, giving his visitors a questioning look.

Kendrick spoke up. "I think we pretty much like anything. I'm sure whatever you suggest will be fine."

"Except raw fish," David interjected, making a face at Kendrick. "I still can't believe I let you talk me into eating that once."

"You were all for going to that new restaurant. You even said—"

"Never mind," David said as he got up. "We're not being gracious guests." He looked back at Starsky. "I hope our visit didn't tire you out."

"You're coming back, aren't you?"

"Well, that was the last time I ever saw your father, David."

"I know, but I'd like to hear what happened to you and Kendrick. How did you end up back together and here in the US?"

David peered at Hutch again. He knew Starsky needed rest, and hoped the man's partner could come up with a good way to excuse them for the night. Besides, the blond seemed to possess an uncanny ability to sense what David needed.

"Starsk, I think it'd be best if everyone came back in the morning. That way David and Kendrick can rest up after that long drive today."

"Yes, that's a good idea." David gave Hutch a grateful smile. "We'll see you tomorrow. Okay, Dave?" He hoped Starsky wouldn't mind being called by his first name. For some reason, David found it hard using their surname to address him.

"Sure," Starsky droned. "Me and the nurses, we've got our routine down pat."

David smiled and turned to Hutch. "We'll wait for you out in the hall, then," he murmured and left the room with Kendrick in tow.

Hutch approached Starsky's bedside. He could see how tired he looked, but Starsky wasn't complaining about feeling bad.

"You want me to swing back by here after dinner?" Hutch asked.

Starsky shook his head. "No, I'll be okay. I'd rather you spend the time with them."

Dipping his head, Hutch felt himself grin widely. "Kinda nice when long-lost relatives drop in, huh?"

"Yeah," Starsky said, matching his smile. "He knows so much about my Pop when he was young. He was gone before I got old enough to even think about asking him what his life was like at that age."

"Well, I'm glad David was able to find you."

"Hutch? Do you think you're related to Kendrick?"

"Oh, Starsky, I seriously doubt it."

"Huh? I dunno…what would've been the odds of me and David being related? I think you two ought to do some comparing. I mean you could have a rich great uncle around and not even know it."

"Starsky, even if I did, I don't think he'd leave me a big chunk of money. See you in the morning, okay?"

"Sure, I ain't going anywhere…"

Hutch patted him on the leg and turned to leave.

"Hey," Starsky called, getting his partner's attention. "Make sure you get the tab? I'll pay you back."

"Save your money, I've got it covered." Hutch said, winking his eye. "'Night, partner."

Hutch located David and Kendrick standing by the elevators. He pressed the down button for the lobby.

While they waited for the car to arrive, David cleared his throat. "Hutch, I…well, we were wondering—how badly was Dave injured? I'm sure he's gotten better since it happened, but that's been almost a month now."

"It was bad…really bad," Hutch managed, hating to remember that day. "The doctors didn't say it at the time, but I don't think they felt he was going to make it. He'd lost so much blood—his heart even quit..."

"My God." David glanced at Kendrick with a pale face. "The newspaper said he'd been shot 'numerous times.' Just how many…?"

"Four—four times. But somehow, he hung in there."

The pair of stainless steel elevator doors opened and the men stepped inside. Hutch was glad for the interruption and, frankly, didn't feel David really wanted any more details than he'd already been given.

"Will he eventually be able to go back to work?" Kendrick asked, breaking the short silence.

Hutch took in a deep breath, and exhaled heavily. "He thinks so…but, realistically, it's too early to know for sure. He's still having setbacks."

"Well, I'll say this," David noted. "The Starskys have beaten tremendous odds before. We fight hard…and we survive."

* * *

The next morning, David and Kendrick arrived at the hospital in a state of alarm. Hutch had planned to pick them up, but instead he'd called and said that Starsky was in bad shape. Up on the fourth floor, they met up with the tall detective outside of Starsky's room.

"What happened? Is he alright?" David asked, as a dozen horrid scenarios raced through his mind.

"The doctor's still in with him, but he's doing better," Hutch said reassuringly.

"You said it was something with his lung—"

"A pneumothorax, a small one, but they decided to put in a chest tube."

"A _new-mo-what_?" David asked.

"It's a collapsed lung," answered Kendrick. "Hopefully with a tube inserted, the lung will reinflate."

"But what caused it? Did he get hurt somehow?"

"When Starsky got shot, his right lung was punctured and collapsed," explained Hutch. "There was a lot of tissue damage and the doc thinks that's what caused air to leak out again. If he was healthier, they could maybe forego inserting the tube, but no one wants to take that chance."

"Can we see him?"

"I think so, but let me check with the doctor."

After a few anxious minutes, Hutch came out and motioned them to enter. Starsky was propped up in bed, more so than the previous day, and had been fitted with a nasal cannula. From under his hospital gown, a long plastic tube came out of his chest and extended down to a collection bottle the floor. The drawn lines and dark circles under Starsky's eyes indicated the procedure had been as painful as it looked.

"Hey, guys," he said weakly.

David stepped closer to the bed. "How are you feeling? Because you look terrible…" He gave Starsky a quick grin, hoping it would lighten the moment a bit. A quirky frown was the only response.

Hutch finished telling the doctor goodbye and came over to the other side of the bed. The relieved expression on his face was good to see, but David couldn't be sure whether it was sincere or just for Starsky's benefit.

"How's it goin', buddy?" Hutch asked as he took hold of his partner's hand.

"'Is sucks, 'utch," Starsky half-spoke, half-wheezed.

The pained expression on his face instantly took David back almost forty years, to when Michael had worn that same look. He glanced over to Kendrick, who was also a good mind reader, and saw his friend give a slight nod.

"Hutch," David said, getting the blond's attention. "We're going to go so Dave can rest. We'll see you—"

"No!" Starsky gasped, a grimace following right behind. "…stay here, please."

Hutch peered at David and began to open his mouth, but David raised a hand to stop him.

"Alright," David relented, looking at Starsky. "But we're going to go have some breakfast first, okay? Then we'll come back."

With a smile, Starsky nodded his head. "…ss-story?" he slurred.

Amazed, David felt like refusing. It struck him, though, that Starsky needed something to take his mind off of a bad situation, and David couldn't find it in his heart to turn him down.

"Yes, I'll tell you more of the story. But I prefer my audience to be awake when I talk, unlike some people…" He nodded at Kendrick, who just rolled his eyes. David turned to Hutch. "Would you like to join us, or stay here?"

"I'll stay here," he answered.

The response didn't surprise David.

* * *

Two hours later, having stayed away as long as they could, David and Kendrick returned to the hospital room. They saw Hutch standing outside the door.

"Is everything alright?" David asked.

Hutch nodded his head. "They just brought him back from taking x-rays. The doc said everything looks good, but the tube will have to stay in for another couple of days."

David placed a hand on Hutch's shoulder. "He's very lucky to have such a good friend. Kendrick and I were talking about how the two of you remind us so much of ourselves. It was hard surviving the war, for both of us, but that's how we managed—because we knew the other cared."

Hutch smiled. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Shall we?" He extended a hand towards the doorway and the three men went in.

"Hey, you're back," Starsky announced, still sounding a little out of breath.

"Starsky, what'd the doctor say? More breathing, less talking," admonished Hutch.

Responding with a deep frown, Starsky muttered, "They're killin' me with radiation, but you're worried I'll talk myself to death." He tugged at the cannula below his nose, trying to adjust it.

"Are all the Starskys this stubborn?" Hutch asked Kendrick.

"Pretty much," he answered, giving David a sly grin.

"Oh, very funny," David remarked, taking a seat by Starsky's bedside. "Tell you what, you two blonds can go elsewhere and laugh your heads off. Me and my cousin here…let's see, you'd actually be my second cousin, right?" He waited until Starsky gave him a nod and said, "Yes, well, we Starsky men will stay here and regale each other with courageous stories of survival."

"Oh, brother," Kendrick moaned. Looking at Hutch, he said, "I bet you have some interesting stories to tell, huh?"

"You'd better believe it."

"Hey!" Starsky wheezed. "I'm the sick one here, and I wanna hear David's story."

"Okay, fine," Hutch conceded. He pulled up a chair for Kendrick then sat down himself.

David glanced downward. "Let's see, where were we?"

"Driving your uncle's car," Starsky answered as he gingerly settled himself under the covers.

"Ah yes. Unfortunately, that was the last time for a long while that I would feel so good. Things were becoming very bad for us, for all the Jews. Moving to the ghetto in Warsaw, that was only the start."

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks guys!

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.

**Chapter 12**

David was beyond tired and sore. He'd been walking for miles along the city streets of Warsaw carrying suitcases and bags in, under and around both arms, stretching his endurance to the breaking point. Worse still was that neither Jakob nor Uncle Emir knew exactly where they were going. As tired as David was, Hannah probably felt worse. She was toting two large bags herself, and had insisted on wearing her dressiest shoes, not realizing how far they'd be walking today.

About an hour ago, they'd come across a group who were traveling towards the 'Jewish Quarter' and had decided to follow them. One family in particular had drawn David's attention. They were escorting a horse-drawn wagon piled full of boxes and bags, tables, chairs, a couch, several bed frames—even a couple of large dressers. Looking at the big pile of furniture, David was glad none of his family had proposed bringing things like that along; what would they have used to haul it all, anyway? As heavy as his load was, he couldn't complain. He still had practically everything he'd brought with him from Germany. And David didn't mind helping his uncle out by carrying some old heirlooms that otherwise would have been left behind.

Uncle Emir had to leave many of his cherished possessions as it was: an old grandfather clock, beautiful wood carvings and a fine set of silverware. He'd sold the more valuable items, although, like Papa, he hadn't come close to getting a good deal. David had offered to give back the ring and diamonds, but his uncle had adamantly refused. For now, David could only hope their financial situation would change soon, so they could again have things like beds and tables and chairs.

When the people ahead of them started to slow down, David sensed they were nearing their destination. More deportees had joined the march during the last mile or so, and now their numbers stretched across the entire width of the two-lane street in a column that extended for several blocks. Several buildings in this part of the city looked like old Roman ruins. They were completely gutted by aerial bombing with only the outer walls standing. David stared at the obliterated floors, unable to comprehend how many people must have died when the Germans dropped their bombs. These buildings weren't factories; they'd been home to thousands. What mindset could rationalize the killing of so many civilians who'd be powerless to stop such an invasive and overwhelming force?

He turned his attention away from the devastation and towards the Poles who had lined the sidewalks, curiously watching the procession of Jews pass by. The expressions on the onlookers' faces made him feel like some unwelcome rodent. The angry stares weren't all that surprising, but the arrogant looks disturbed him the most. It was like they didn't even consider the Jews human any longer.

Walking down to the next block, David noticed several marchers in front of him turn their heads to look at a sign posted over the doorway of a restaurant. When he finally got close enough to read it, he couldn't believe the brazenness of the poster—

"ENTRANCE FORBIDDEN TO POLES, JEWS AND DOGS"

David turned to Hannah. "Just who do they expect to be their customers…Russians?"

It took another half hour before they arrived at the ghetto entrance. After everyone in front of them had slowly proceeded on through, David's family finally stood in front of a low steel gate guarded by German soldiers and a few Polish police officers. As Jakob and Emir pulled out their papers to be inspected, David gratefully set his load down and glanced around the wide boulevard. A group of laborers, all wearing white arm bands, were laying down a thick course of bricks out on the sidewalk. He got an uneasy feeling watching the men because the brick wall they were constructing would cut straight across the street when finished.

"That's an odd place to build a wall, isn't it?" Hannah noted. "How will any traffic get through?"

David took a closer look at the guarded gate and examined the makeshift wooden posts and barbed wire strung on either side of it. Uncle Emir had been right—the Jews were being incarcerated. This place resembled a prison, just one without a roof.

"And where do we find the _Judenrat_?" David heard Jakob asking one of the guards. So far, the German had seemed tolerant, but his cohorts were eying their group with utter distain. Maybe living in an area restricted only for Jews wouldn't be so bad; at least they wouldn't be looked at as if they were dirt.

Once Jakob got directions to the Jewish council office, they picked up their bags and started walking again. Now that they were officially inside the ghetto, the crowds out on the streets were much heavier than in the other parts of Warsaw. David was surprised that many of the people seemed to look at them in the same way that the guards at the gate had.

After traveling across a few more blocks, they arrived at the _Judenrat _building. David and Hannah decided to wait out on the steps while Jakob and Emir went inside to get their housing assignments. Hannah took her shoes off and rubbed her feet. She looked very tired.

"Are you doing okay?" David asked.

"Yes. I just didn't think we'd be walking so far today. Maybe it won't be too much further to our apartment. I hope it's nice."

David glanced at the surrounding buildings. Some looked old and dirty, probably from being built several decades ago. But beyond these few weather-beaten structures, the entire neighborhood seemed just as grey and lifeless. There were no flags or banners hanging anywhere, no colorful advertisements, no decorative window displays. Worse yet, David hadn't seen a park, a single spot of bare land, or so much as a flower box set in a window sill. Granted, it was already October, but the thought of what this place would look like in winter sent chills down his spine.

Twenty minutes later, Jakob and Emir came out of the front doors each holding papers in their hands. Jakob unfolded a map of the area and he and Emir tried to figure out which way to go. Once they got their bearings, everyone gathered their bags; eager to be done with this last leg of their journey.

"So it's a two-bedroom apartment?" Hannah asked.

"Yes, that's what they said," Uncle Emir answered. "I didn't like the look on their faces, though. Damn Slovakians, I've never met one that could tell the truth."

"So what are you saying, brother? That they gave us an apartment that doesn't exist?" Jakob grunted, hoisting the bag he was carrying higher onto his shoulder.

"Oh it probably exists—" Emir looked up at the top floor of a building they were passing. "Of course, it might have a small problem like that one there." A large gaping hole which once had been a window peered down at them like an ugly black eye. "You can't trust a Slav."

David quietly sighed. _You mean you can't trust anyone who's not a Polish Jew_, he thought.

After making their way through a few more crowded streets, the family at last stood in front of a five-story apartment building.

Cranking his head back, David muttered, "I hope we're not all the way up there."

"Number 312," Uncle Emir stated. "Almost, nephew."

Tugging at the despised baggage one more time, they headed up the narrow staircase. When they reached the apartment, David was surprised that the door was ajar and there were voices coming from inside. Uncle Emir set his suitcases down. Announcing himself, he knocked loudly on the door. A short, middle-aged man appeared and looked blankly at his visitors.

"Excuse me," Uncle Emir began, glancing at the three metal numbers at eye level, "But I think you are in our apartment."

The fellow adjusted the glasses on his nose and opened the door wider. Inside, a woman walked up and stood behind him. "No, we are in the right place," he answered. He turned to the woman and, in Yiddish, said, "Go move the bags from their room." When she left, he stepped back a bit. "We didn't know when you would arrive," he explained, motioning for them to come inside. "It will just take a moment for my wife to move our things."

"You mean you are living here, too?" Jakob asked incredulously. "Surely there has been some mistake. We have four people here, and this apartment has only two bedrooms!"

The man smiled sympathetically. "I assure you, sir, there has been no mistake. Many of our neighbors have complained about the same thing. I've heard some apartments have nine, ten people in them, and they are not even as big as ours."

Warily, David and Hannah followed Jakob and Emir inside. The foyer was very narrow and immediately opened into the kitchen. In front of them was a small sink alongside a set of cabinets, and on the left, an open door to the washroom. To the right, was a dining table with four chairs. Directly behind the table was a small living area where a large but worn couch sat against the wall. On one side of the couch, a large window provided a source of light and on the other side was another door leading to one of the bedrooms. Turning back towards the foyer, David could see that the hallway separated the first bedroom from the second. He couldn't help but wonder how they'd all live together in here. Compared to Uncle Emir's house, this apartment was only half its size.

"My name is Shlomo Vilozny and this is my wife, Anka," the man said, pointing to the woman as she came out of the second bedroom. "We've lived in Warsaw for years, but we're originally from Skierniewice."

"That is not far from where we lived," Uncle Emir said. He was still looking around the apartment, as if hoping that any moment it would grow bigger. "I am Emir Starsky; this is my brother Jakob and his son, David." He set his bags on the floor and reached out to shake Shlomo's hand. "The lovely woman with us is Hannah, David's wife."

David and Jakob set their luggage down. While Jakob said hello to the Viloznys, David took Hannah's bags and laid them on top of the other suitcases.

"Nice to meet you, even if it is under these difficult conditions." Hannah said to Anka, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

David shook Shlomo's hand, nodding a greeting.

"You must be tired after carrying all those bags," Anka said. "Please, sit down while I'll see if we have some tea."

Emir turned to Shlomo. "So, this is your home, and they're making you share it with strangers?"

"We use to live about three kilometers away," he answered. "The Germans evicted us a month ago and put us here. The Polish families who were living in this building had to move out. The Nazis want all the Jews in one place, blocked off from the rest of the city."

"Is that why they're building those brick walls?" David asked, stepping a little closer to the window so he could see out.

"Yes. To keep us separated from the _goyims_. But all the factories, businesses, they're on the Aryan side. Unless you have a work permit, you can't leave the ghetto."

Uncle Emir shook his head. "Well, since this is where we must live now, how do we settle the sleeping arrangements? The two women in one room and the men in the other?"

David's heart sank. He glanced around the apartment and stared at the bathroom entrance, wondering if that would be the only place he and Hannah could ever share some privacy.

"Oh, I forgot to mention," Shlomo remarked, "we also have a daughter, Malinka. She is out right now trying to get us work passes."

"How old is she?" Hannah asked eagerly. Her quick response caught David off guard; he'd focused on the words 'work passes'.

"She'll be eighteen in a few weeks," Anka answered, smiling warmly at Hannah. "Perhaps she's about your age?"

"I'm twenty," Hannah said, stepping around the pile of luggage on the floor to join Anka in the kitchen.

"Here, I should help you move these," Shlomo offered, grabbing the bags. "The men can stay in this bedroom; the women will have the one next to the washroom."

David grabbed a few bundles and followed the other men into the bedroom they were to share. It was a little larger than his and Michael's, but not by much. There was one bed and a small standing closet, but nothing else.

Figuring his place would be on the floor, David picked a logical spot and dropped one of the mattress bundles and set the other bags on the bed. The last thing he'd expected was having to share a room with three other men and a small apartment with another family. Although there were still probably many things he needed to learn about the ghetto, the option of moving into a place of his own with Hannah seemed as remote as the Nazis wanting to surrender. He glanced over at Jakob and saw the same forlorn expression that David was sure mirrored his own. Papa would join him on the floor, unselfishly leaving the bed to his elder brother and Shlomo.

After a short discussion, the men picked out certain places in the room for their personal things; underwear, shaving kits, mementos, and continued to unpack. David hastily arranged his few belongings, including Michael's dictionary, and left the crowded enclosure to see how Hannah was doing.

The women's bedroom was about the same size as his, and similarly furnished with a single bed and closet. He noticed Hannah's mattress pad on the floor and assumed that she, too, had volunteered to sleep there. Standing in the doorway, David watched for a moment as Hannah showed Anka some of the dishes and kitchen utensils they'd brought along. It was good to see her talking casually with another woman, something she hadn't had the opportunity to do very often since they'd left Germany. David hoped that Hannah could become good friends with Malinka; she at least deserved that much after having lived with just Starsky men for the past year and a half.

"David!" Anka called, seeing him standing there. "Hannah tells me you two are betrothed. _Mazel Tov_!"

"Thank you, Frau Vilozny."

"It's a shame we do not have more room here, for you. Young couples, they should be together." She clasped her hands together and said, "Ah, well, when the war is over we can all go back to our lives, yes?"

David smiled accordingly, but couldn't believe in Anka's optimism. Slowly, and meticulously, the Nazis were stripping Jews of everything they had—homes, jobs, possessions. Even if England or France could beat Germany, did Anka actually believe they would have lives to return to? And just how likely was it that their Gentile neighbors would suddenly experience a change of heart and welcome them back with open arms?

The sound of the front door opening and closing brought Anka to her feet. "That must be Malinka," she said.

David turned and locked eyes with the young female who had just emerged from the foyer. Obviously stunned for a moment, Malinka stared anxiously back at him, but relaxed at the sight of her mother coming out of the bedroom.

"It's alright, my dear," Anka beckoned. "This is the Starsky family. They will be sharing the apartment with us."

David introduced himself first and then Hannah.

Shlomo came out and after greeting his daughter, introduced her to Papa and Uncle Emir. Malinka was a little shorter than Hannah, but similarly attractive. Brown, doe-like eyes complemented the round face and her long, chestnut hair was braided on both sides, making her look younger than her years. As for the rest of her figure, David left it to his imagination, but had no doubt she would please any future husband.

Anka's voice interrupted his musings. "So, Malinka, did you get the passes?"

The girlish face instantly looked sad. "No, mother. They won't put your name on a waiting list unless you have 100 _zlotys_ to hand over."

"100 _zlotys_? Who demands this?" Jakob asked.

"The _Judenrat_," Shlomo responded, with a disgusted tone. "The Ghetto has its own set of laws, the most important being 'money talks'. You must have money—to work, to eat, to barter. If you have things to sell—gold, diamonds, jewelry—there are plenty of buyers. Tens of thousands of dollars are exchanged every day here on the Black Market. A loaf of bread, smuggled from the Aryan side, is now up to 3 _zlotys_. And people gladly pay that."

"Why do people have to buy so much and drive up the prices?" Uncle Emir reached in a pocket and pulled out a food ration card. He quickly glanced at the front of it, then shoved it at Shlomo. "Here. We all got these today. It has bread on it…"

"Did you look at it closely?" Shlomo snapped. "It's only for 180 grams. That's a quarter of a loaf per day, plus a spoonful of fat and a couple of potatoes. No meat, no vegetables, fruit, or milk—" He stopped for a moment while Emir studied the card. "Jews get 800 calories a day, Poles twice that and Germans over three times that amount. Trust me, if you're smart, you'll find a good smuggler to do business with. I know a few; it's how we get a few extra carrots or a head of cabbage each week. If you want, I can put you in touch with them, but because you're new, they might charge you extra."

Emir took a step forward and pointed a finger at Shlomo. "I wouldn't give one _groszy_…"

Jakob immediately stepped in between the two men and took hold of Emir. "Come, brother. We have more things to unpack." He firmly escorted the angry man into the bedroom.

As the door slammed shut behind them, David turned to Shlomo. "He's just tired from the journey today," he said sheepishly. "But I'd like to know more about finding work here." He glanced over to Malinka. "Are there other ways to find a job without going through the council's office?"

"If you're asking are there more ways than one to make money, then yes. But they are all very risky. It's safer to try and get work at the factories."

"By bribing someone to get a work pass? That's being safe?"

Malinka looked nervously at her father. "That's not where all the money goes," she said. "The _Judenrat_ is responsible for running everything here. Hospitals, orphanages, schools. They're even being made to pay for building the wall around the ghetto. Naturally, they look for money anywhere they can find it."

"They're just puppets, working for the Nazis," Shlomo countered, raising an arm in disgust and slicing it through the air. "They fill their own pockets first, and whatever meager change is left gets doled out to the community. Like I said before, here the rich get richer, and the poor…well, they're fools if they expect the rich to help them."

"We intend to support ourselves," David proclaimed. Looking at Malinka, he asked, "Can you show us where we need to start?"

"First you'll need your identity cards," she said, and glanced at her watch. "It's too late to get those today, though. But I could show you where the market place is, and you can see what's being offered for sale."

David turned to Hannah. "Do you want to go?"

"Of course," she answered.

"Malinka, wait," Anka called before she stepped back into the bedroom. A few seconds later she emerged holding a few crumpled bills in her hand. "Here," she said, stuffing the money into her daughter's coat pocket. "See if you can pick up some extra potatoes for the soup tonight. It looks like there will be more than the three of us."

"Frau Vilozny, you don't have to do that," David implored. "We brought along some extra food."

"Keep it," Shlomo remarked, laying a hand across his wife's shoulders. "Perhaps some other night you can return the favor."

"Of course we will," Hannah replied. "Thank you."

"Well then, shall we go?" Malinka asked.

"I'll go grab my coat," Hannah said and went into her room. David glanced down at his long sleeved shirt. His jacket would be warmer, but he didn't want to disturb the heated conversation that was already leaking out from behind the closed bedroom door. When Hannah returned, he took her hand and they followed Malinka out of the apartment.

Once outside on the street, Malinka stopped them for a moment. "I just want to tell you something. Sometimes it's not a pretty sight down there. Often, I see little children without anyone to take care of them, begging for a piece of bread. Other children, older ones, will try to steal whatever they can. The police, Poles and Jews, don't hesitate to beat anyone they catch. It's just how life is here."

"We know about the police," David said, casting a glance at Hannah. The look on her face told him she was also thinking about Michael. "But we'll keep our eyes open."

.

**Chapter 13**

**.**

Kendrick walked slowly but determinedly on the snow packed road. Willy trudged along beside him, smoking like a chimney. He'd already lit his second cigarette since they'd left the town square. For weeks, Kendrick had been hoping he'd eventually arrive in David's town as his regiment systematically worked its way through this part of Poland. Their job was to insure that all the resident Jews had been evicted, and lend any assistance to the local authorities. So far, it appeared as though people had complied with the order, and for that Kendrick was grateful. His orders were to shoot anyone who hadn't obeyed.

When Kendrick was given a list of names and addresses to check, he'd been extremely relieved to see Emir Starsky's name on that list. In his last letter, David had mentioned his family would have to move, but it was his friend's thick streak of stubbornness that had Kendrick worried. It wouldn't surprise him if David or one of his relatives had elected to stay and take their chances. Now, as each step drew him closer to the address, Kendrick's anxiety steadily increased.

"You know, all of these Polish towns look exactly the same," Willy said, blowing smoke out in the frigid air. "I bet all we've done in the last month is walk around in circles while some _dupek_ keeps running ahead of us changing the signs."

Kendrick glanced over at his companion. No matter what the situation, Willy could always be counted on to lighten the mood. Kendrick just shook his head with a smile.

"What? You don't believe me?" Willy challenged. "I've seen the same shitty houses for weeks now. Why should we care if a few Jews want to live in such shacks?"

Switching his rifle over to his other shoulder, Kendrick thought about Willy's comment. Like himself, Willy had grown tired of being in the army. While neither wanted to be back on a battlefield, these last several months had consisted of nothing but marching all day long, from one village to another, toting heavy packs that mercilessly dug into their shoulders like wooden yokes. And Kendrick couldn't remember the last time he'd slept on a real mattress instead of a pallet, with nothing but a tiny pup tent for shelter.

Even these hardships paled in comparison to what was really tormenting Kendrick. In nearly every town they had gone through, he'd seen the platoon leaders hunt down the top community leaders. After dragging these men out from their homes or offices in full view of the public, they'd be placed under arrest as political dissidents. Any protest from family members or friends would be quickly silenced by heavy blows.

After taking the victims to a secluded spot outside of the town, Kendrick's orders were clear. These people were their enemies, or so the party line dictated. If left alive, these community heads would regroup and form a resistance movement against their conquerors, the valiant Third Reich. Hundreds, if not thousands, of German soldiers could die from partisan attacks and the welfare of untold numbers of _Deutsch Volk_ settlers—men, women and children—would be at risk.

_My Honor is Loyalty_.

Before he had to shoot, Kendrick would recite the SS motto in his head over and over again. He couldn't be weak, not when it would endanger his fellow soldiers. These men would kill and gladly give their lives for him; he had to feel the same way. But every time he pulled the trigger and killed another civilian, Kendrick felt a piece of his own soul die. What kind of war was he fighting, anyway? Was this how Hitler planned to conquer the world?

_Orders are orders_.

He didn't have any deep rooted hatred for these people, so the best he could do was to provide them with a quick death. That's what he'd been trained for, and why he always chose the heart. Perhaps that's how his commander could so coldly order each execution. Once you give up your compassion, letting go of your humanity and conscience probably followed naturally.

_Just remember, this isn't David standing in front of you_.

This was Kendrick's last bit of reasoning. As long as he didn't know these victims, he could pretend they were simply not real people. Instead, they were targets, inanimate and faceless, nothing else. Once you were done with them, you could just throw them away.

Kendrick wiped the morbid thoughts from his head and refocused on his and Willy's task. The sound of their heavy steps hitting the frozen and crunchy ground brought him back to the present. Skozenka. Just one more Polish village, identical to the last, but this was David's home—

"Kendrick!"

Willy's yell from behind froze Kendrick in his tracks. Was there a threat he hadn't seen? Partisan fighters ready to ambush them? Kendrick needed to turn around, but fear had him in an unbreakable grip.

"Isn't this one of the houses?"

Kendrick spun around, feeling a mixture of relief and the frantic beating of his heart. Willy was pointing his rifle at a small, wooden cottage. Kendrick stared at him, held motionless as the shock drained out of his body.

"Well, isn't it?"

Clumsily, Kendrick pulled the list out and tried to find the address of the house they were standing in front of. He'd let himself get so involved in thinking about David that he'd lost sight of where they were. Even though this was a rural town, he and Willy were still enemy soldiers in an occupied country. Resistance fighters were few and scattered, but their aim was generally deadly.

Finally locating the house number, Kendrick nodded at his partner. "Yes, you're right—let's check it out."

They walked up to the front door and Willy kicked it in. Most of the Jewish homes they had inspected were vacant, although a few had been 'taken over' by local residents, no doubt in search of better accommodations. As long as the new occupants weren't related to the previous owners, the soldiers had orders to let them stay.

This house was like hundreds of others they'd seen. Kitchen cupboards were emptied, and while most of the furniture was still in place, beds had been stripped of linens and the mattresses were gone, as well. Perhaps most eerily, though, a stillness hung in the air as if they'd stepped into some other time period where they didn't belong. Willy never seemed to notice it, but to Kendrick, the feeling was all-consuming. His skin would feel prickly, almost tingly, and a heavy pressure would wrap around him. At times it would be so bad, he'd have to dash out of the house.

This time, the sensation wasn't as intense, but Kendrick completed his search as fast as he could and scrambled to escape from the stuffy confines of the house. Making it out the front door, he stopped for a long moment on the front porch. He inhaled deeply, not caring about the sharp pain as the frigid air bit into his lungs. A small group of people watched him warily from the across the street.

"Go on your way!" Willy yelled at the townspeople. "Before we start thinking that you're Jews!"

As the onlookers hurried away, Kendrick shook off the odd feeling and joined Willy as he headed to the next house. Although the town was rather small, the well-kept homes and streets indicated a certain civic pride. Many cottages still had the old thatched roofs which looked particularly nice under the blanket of snow. Kendrick could see David and Hannah walking hand in hand in the neighborhood, forgetting for the moment that they were a targeted race. It was a peaceful here. The Polish inhabitants were obviously not happy that the Germans were in town, but they still gave courteous nods to the two soldiers; as well as a wide berth.

With David's house close by, Kendrick had a hard time keeping his attention focused on the people milling about in the neighborhood, wary of encountering partisans. He would rather scan ahead for the one place he'd been waiting forever to find. Finally, he and Willy arrived at a pale beige cottage with a large metal awning and two birch trees in the front yard. This was it; Emir Starsky's address.

Stepping onto the front porch, Kendrick barely caught Willy before he kicked in the door.

"No, wait!" Kendrick hollered.

He brushed past Willy, ignoring his confused look and tried the door knob. Relief shot through him when it turned easily. Slowly, he pushed the door open and quickly scanned the empty parlor. Willy pressed in from behind, but Kendrick was no longer worried about finding any inhabitants. That uneasy sensation hung thickly around him, absolutely guaranteeing that they were the only two people inside the house. With a sense of relief, and sad resignation, Kendrick started to check the other rooms.

While Willy searched the kitchen, Kendrick poked his head into the first bedroom he came to. It was small, with just one bed and a dresser. The next one, right across the hall, was a little larger and contained a desk and chair. He could hear Willy approaching behind him, and they quickly checked the last bedroom.

"Just like the others—empty," Willy noted, turning to leave.

Kendrick paused in the hallway, not sure what to do next. He wanted to stay and imagine the people and scenes that must have taken place here in the last year. Birthday celebrations, evening meals, family talks. Walking slowly, he reached the doorway of one of the bedrooms and stood there, looking at the bare tree in the backyard that he could see through the window. Was this where David stayed? Writing letters that spoke of Hannah's loneliness, of Michael's abduction, and of not knowing where life would take him next?

"Kendrick? _Was ist los_?"

Willy's irritated tone shook him out of his pondering. Numbly, he walked out to where Willy was waiting in the parlor room. Before he reached the front door, though, a hand grabbed his arm.

"What's wrong with you today?" Willy asked, tensing his grip.

Kendrick was about to say it was nothing, but the look of concern in the man's eyes struck a chord deep inside of him. "This…is where my friend used to live…" Kendrick said, his voice starting to break.

Willy let go and gazed at Kendrick, his face masked in bewilderment.

"Your friend?" he muttered quietly. Willy glanced around the room and then focused back on Kendrick. "A Jewish friend?" His voice was harder now.

Kendrick nodded. "Since childhood."

Willy's face relaxed. Taking a step back, he asked, "This must be a girl, _ja_?"

A wave of apprehension rushed through Kendrick. "No," he admitted softly.

Willy's eyebrows rose. He tipped his helmet back and set his rifle and backpack down beside the chair behind him. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a package of cigarettes. After sticking one in his mouth, he offered the pack to Kendrick.

"Tell me about this friend," Willy said.

* * *

David stood apprehensively by the washroom door. Hannah was inside and obviously preferred to be alone while she was throwing up. She'd rushed into the small room twice this morning, carrying a small metal pail.

Listening as the distressed moans of his wife escaped from the washroom, David was anxious to get her to the hospital. Maybe Malinka would know a doctor who could see Hannah right away. Just last week, she'd been hired as a nurse's assistant at one of the small hospitals.

"Is Hannah still not feeling well?" Anka said, coming up behind him.

David nodded his head and stepped away from the door so Hannah wouldn't hear him. "She's been getting sick like this for almost two weeks," he said. "I'm worried it's something serious."

Anka placed a hand on his shoulder. "David, I don't think what Hannah has is anything for you to worry over."

"What makes you think that?" he asked.

Lately, Anka had been the family's live-in doctor, treating the entire household with her home remedies as one after the other of them either caught a cold or suffered with the flu.

"She's vomiting so often, she can barely keep anything in her stomach," David added. "I think she's really sick."

"Call it a woman's intuition," Anka ventured, "but is it possible your wife could be pregnant?"

"Pregnant?" David exclaimed, then grimaced at having spoken so loudly. In a quieter voice, he asked, "You think she's actually…you mean I'm…_a baby_?" The last word immediately erased a lot of his fears and sent a tingle through him.

A satisfied smile appeared on Anka's face. "Yes, it's possible. Many women have upset stomachs in the beginning. It's nothing to worry about—the feeling passes before too long."

Before David had a chance for this information to really sink in, the washroom door opened. A pale, but otherwise healthy-looking Hannah stepped out and dabbed her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Mother Anka, you think I could be pregnant?" she asked softly, her eyes wide open with anticipation.

"I went through much the same thing with Malinka. The mornings were the worst."

"Maybe we should still go to the hospital," David said, not sure if he wanted to take Anka's word. "Wouldn't a doctor know for certain if she was?"

Anka glanced down at Hannah's belly. "When I was young, there was a woman in our village who all the wives went to when they thought they might be pregnant. Somehow, she was always able to tell. Many didn't even have their babies until almost eight months later! But maybe the best thing to do is wait. By this time next month, you'll know for sure."

"Is that what you want to do, Hannah?" David shifted nervously on his feet. If what Anka had said was true, they didn't have anything to worry about. But if she was wrong—

"I think I'll be all right. Besides, you know how busy they are at the hospital."

David understood Hannah's concern. Every night at supper, Malinka would tell them about the latest happenings at her job. Faced with a lack of medicine and beds, the over-worked staff focused their efforts on the most seriously ill patients. The rest would usually have to wait for hours before they could be seen by a doctor or, in some cases, only a nurse. If Hannah's main complaint was just an upset stomach, they'd likely be waiting there a very long time.

"Well, I think, at the very least, you should lie down." David glanced at Anka. He was hoping she'd know that he didn't mean on the bedroom floor. Gratefully, she did.

"Of course," Anka said. "I'll go turn the covers on the bed right now."

The couch could've been an option, especially since it was daytime and Jakob wasn't home, but David wanted his wife to be as comfortable as possible. Papa had been sleeping on the couch at night and had given his mattress to Hannah, who was delighted to have the extra padding. David wondered if pregnancy was a good reason for Hannah to start sleeping on the bed.

"Everything is ready, Hannah," Anka said, coming out from the room. "Take your shoes off, dear, and go make yourself comfortable. David can help." She nodded with contentment when Hannah complied instantly. "I'll go see if there's any tea left."

"Thank you," Hannah said, and entered the bedroom. She climbed on the mattress and lay back on the pillows, eying David happily. He grinned at her—it wasn't often they had such luxury.

Within a few moments, Anka returned with a cup of tea. "Now, you drink all of this," she said, handing the cup to Hannah. "I have some shopping to do. Frau Kelkman told me she'd have some turnips to sell today." Anka grabbed a scarf from the top of the dresser and wrapping it around her neck, quickly left the apartment.

"I think that was just an excuse to leave us alone," David said.

"I'm not going to argue about it with her, are you?" Hannah asked mischievously. "Come," she said, patting the mattress. "I need some company."

"So, do you think Anka's right?" David asked as he slipped his shoes off and climbed onto the bed. "Could you really be…you know, a mommy?"

A slight chuckle escaped her. "Would that make you happy?" she asked.

David leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. "You know it would."

The radiant look on Hannah's face faded a little. "Even if we have to raise the child here? Is that still what you would want?"

Momentarily losing some of his enthusiasm, David replied, "No. I mean, this isn't a place where a child should grow up. But it won't be like this forever. Things are bound to change, and when they do, we'll be a family who won't ever take anything for granted."

That seemed to put a glow back into Hannah. "All right, my husband. Then what would you prefer to have first? A boy or a girl?"

"First?" David exclaimed. He thought for a moment. "How about we wait and see what this one will be. Then I'll want another one just like it, and another, and another…"

They both started to laugh. Every time David looked at his wife, and saw her giggling, he started to laugh all over again. It had been a long time since they'd had something so joyous to feel good about.

So far, 1941 had started out worse than the previous year. Unexpectedly, the Germans had cut off heating fuel for the ghetto, causing untold hundreds to freeze to death in their own homes. With no money to pay for funerals, the families' only choice was to lay the dead on the sidewalks, so the bodies could be taken to the cemetery and buried in a mass grave. David cringed every time he stepped outside and saw the corpses scattered down the block—the frozen and naked figures spoke volumes about the Jews' condition.

But as quickly as the dead were carried off, more people than ever were arriving to replace them. Water and sewer systems, completely overloaded, ceased to function properly anymore. Several times, Anka had to wait nearly an hour for enough water to trickle from the spigot to cook with. Worse yet, there was nowhere to escape from the miserable conditions. The ghetto was now completely surrounded by three-meter high brick walls, topped with broken glass and barbed wire. The prisoners locked inside could only dream of freedom.

Hannah shifted on the bed beside him, pulling David into a more pleasurable moment.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked, using a finger to trace down his nose.

David took hold of the slim hand and pressed it against his cheek. "How good it will be to have our own family."

A smile blossomed on Hannah's face, one that David hadn't seen since their wedding night.

Both had wanted to be married in the apartment, with only the two families present. The ceremony had been simple and short, but David would never forget how everyone pitched in to make the occasion a night that both of them would always remember—

.

Uncle Emir had bartered a pair of wool pants in return for two wedding candles and a bridal veil for Hannah. Malinka had graciously lent Hannah her best dress, so she'd have something new to wear; even taking the hem out so it would fit her better. And Papa. He'd given David a new shirt. Whatever Papa had done to get it, must have been incredible since new clothing was unheard of in the ghetto. Lastly, Shlomo and Anka had offered to prepare a celebratory meal and promised there would even be some wine.

Just before sunset on the Sabbath, David sat alone in his bedroom, nervously picking off stray pieces of lint from his clothing. Even though, legally, he and Hannah had been husband and wife for almost two years, the ceremony would make their union final. David felt like he was preparing to meet his bride for the first time, as if they had been brought together by the village matchmaker. He wondered if Hannah felt the same way. She was across the hall in the other bedroom with Anka and Malinka.

A soft knock at the door drew his attention.

"David? Are you ready?" Papa asked, sticking his head in.

David rose from the bed and straightened out his new shirt. "I think so. I can't remember when I've been this nervous."

He watched as Jakob entered the room and closed the door behind him. "I was much the same way when I married your mother," he said with a glint in his eye. Then, in a more serious tone, added, "But you can't rightfully marry Hannah yet, my son."

David felt his smile fade. "Why not, Papa?"

"Because you haven't given her everything that is required by law."

"Oh," David said, relief flooding back into him. "I've got a ring. Uncle Emir gave it to me before we left Skozenka."

"I'm not talking about a ring, David." Jakob took a few steps closer. "You've never completed your _kiddushin."_

Before David could ask another question, Jakob smiled and pulled out something he was hiding behind his back. David gasped when he saw a beautifully made _ketubah_, scripted in calligraphy and encased a thin, metal picture frame.

"I hope you don't mind, but I copied this from my own contract with your mother. We didn't have much at the time, either, so ours was very simple."

David took the plaque from Jakob's hands, finding it hard to take his eyes off of it. He'd thought about trying to make one himself, but gave up when it became apparent he could never create a _ketubah_ pretty enough to give to Hannah.

"It's beautiful, Papa," David uttered, struggling to keep his voice from breaking.

Jakob came closer and put his arm on David's shoulder. "I know how hard you've tried to provide for Hannah…and me. You've been a good son, and you will be an even better husband. I don't say this as often as I should, but you make me proud." Jakob's voice cracked a little. Clearing his throat, he said, "I only wish I could be standing here with your mother."

"I think she's here, Papa."

Jakob smiled. "Come then; we don't want to keep your lovely bride waiting."

Before stepping out of the bedroom, Jakob replaced the plaque in David's hand with a braided candle. After lighting the three wicks, he switched off the ceiling light and opened the door. David caught his breath as both men walked out into the candlelit apartment. Across the room, Shlomo, Anka and Emir stood together, each holding a small candle. Once David was led up to them, he heard the other bedroom door open and turned to see Malinka come out. Behind her, was Hannah.

As the two women approached, David took in the stunning beauty of his bride. Even from behind the veil, Hannah's eyes shown bright and lovely, and the graceful sway of her walk accentuated her femininity. The yellow dress she wore hugged every curve of her body perfectly. There were two handmade daisies in her hair, at the temples, the white color contrasting nicely with her dark curls. And tied around the candle she held in both hands, was a bow made of pink ribbon. This vision, right now, would be forever locked in his memory.

Hannah came along side him, then circled around one time. Shlomo gave Malinka his candle and picked up a bottle of wine off of the table. He poured some in a glass and handed it to David. After Shlomo made a blessing, David took a sip and then offered the glass to Hannah. She delicately lifted the veil from her face and took a drink. When she was done, Jakob and Emir, with the help of Shlomo and Anka, raised a crude canopy over the couple's heads. It was made from a folded bed sheet tied at each corner to four broom handles. David nervously dug into his pocket and pulled out a gold ring.

Taking the bride's hand, he slipped the ring on her finger and recited the marriage vow.

"Hannah, be consecrated to me with this ring according to the law of Moses and Israel."

Hannah's face glowed with happiness.

Malinka stepped forward and placed a piece of broken glass on the floor. David raised his foot and eagerly smashed it.

"_Mazel Tov_!" cheered everyone.

David removed the veil and gave Hannah her first kiss as his fully fledged wife…

.

"You're giving me that look again," Hannah said, staring into his eyes.

David's mind reluctantly left that special evening and came back to the present. "What look is that?" he asked, lifting his head from the pillow.

"The one you gave me on our wedding night."

David took Hannah's teacup and set it on the little night stand. He slipped underneath the covers and cuddled up next to her soft body, draping an arm and leg over her, and then easing his other arm under her head.

"So you remember that night, huh?" he asked, running his fingers lightly over her arm.

"Yes, but we weren't alone like we are now," she murmured seductively.

David remembered that visit to his bedroom for a little private time before they joined the others for the celebratory dinner. Since that night, he'd sworn to find some secret, out of the way place where they could truly partake in _all_ of the joys of matrimony, without the fear of an audience close by. Now, in the quiet and cool room, he began to lavish the future mother of his children with kisses and tender caresses.

This wasn't heaven, where they were at. But what David knew, and what he had known for a long time, was any place he could be with Hannah, even if it was in the midst of hell, was heaven enough for him.

* * *

Kendrick pulled a cigarette out from the pack Willy offered him and dug around in his coat pocket until he found a matchbook. After lighting up, he set his gear on the floor in the parlor. He pulled up an armchair next to Willy's, feeling anything but a guest in David's house.

Once the first inhalation hit his lungs, Kendrick paused for a moment to collect his thoughts.

"My real parents died when I was twelve," he began. "Before that, my mother and David's were very good friends."

"David…that's your friend's name?" Willy asked, crossing his legs.

Kendrick nodded. For now, David's last name wasn't important. "His mother was actually an American. She'd come to Germany to study art and met David's father while they were students at the University of Berlin."

"Ah, an American. I've always wanted to see Hollywood, you know, with all those movie stars." Willy jutted his chin up in the air, showing Kendrick his profile. "Can't you see me doing a love scene with Marlene Dietrich, huh? Or, what's her name…Mae West!" Willy put his chin on his shoulder and in a sultry, feminine voice said, "_Come up and see me sometime, big boy_."

Chuckling, Kendrick let out a puff of smoke. Willy didn't show his playful side very often, but when he did, he could be very entertaining.

"So, how did your mother and his meet?" asked Willy.

"At an art exhibit. My mother was showing some of her paintings."

"Really?" Willy exclaimed. "She must have been very good."

Kendrick shrugged his shoulders. "I guess. To me, her paintings looked the same as others I'd seen. I didn't realize then how much talent it took to create something like that."

"And that's when you met David?"

"Yes. We were almost the same age; I was a little older, but not by much. We got along as if we'd known each other all of our lives."

Willy shifted in his seat. "And it didn't bother you that he was a Jew?"

"Why should it have?" Kendrick answered, angered by the question. "He was a kid, just like me. If some other boy made fun or tried to fight me, David was always there, making sure I wasn't alone. If I needed an extra pfennig to buy candy, he'd give me his without me even asking, and his family wasn't rich, believe me."

"Alright, so he acted like a good friend. But what makes him so special?"

Kendrick hesitated. He wasn't sure how much to tell the cadet, but ever since he'd known him, Willy had never given any reason why he couldn't be trusted.

"When I lost my parents, I didn't have any other family that I could go to. David wanted me to come live with him, so did his mother, but David's father…" Kendrick sighed. "I don't think he liked our families spending time together. I got the impression he wanted them to be more involved with other Jews. He certainly didn't want me; I'd never felt more alone in my life."

"So what happened?" Willy asked, flicking the ashes from his cigarette.

"I was sent to an orphanage. It was horrible. I mean, I got taken care of, but I was the oldest one there. Every time a couple came to adopt a kid, they'd brush right past me and go straight to the little ones. So one day I decided to run away—actually, I wanted to do more than that…"

Kendrick jammed the cigarette back in his mouth, drawing in as much of the acrid smoke as he could. Keeping the dose in his lungs for several moments, he finally exhaled.

"I found David and said my goodbyes. I think he must have suspected something because he never left my side. He dragged me home with him, but by then it was very late. When his parents asked what happened, David protected me by lying. The next day, instead of taking me back to the orphanage, his mother brought me to a Catholic church and had a long talk with the priest. That night, I stayed with his family and the following day I met my new parents."

Willy exhaled and snuffed out his cigarette. "You wanted to kill yourself, didn't you?"

"Yes," Kendrick admitted. "I never told David that, but somehow he knew. When he convinced me to go home with him…well, he saved my life."

"And you think his mother knew this as well?"

"I'm not sure," said Kendrick, letting out a final puff. "I think David trusted her enough to tell her the truth. Maybe he also told his father, but I doubt it."

Willy leaned forward and grabbed his rifle. "This friend, he certainly doesn't sound very Jewish. Maybe he's a…what do they call it, an 'exception to the rule'? _Ja_?"

Kendrick stood and snatched his rifle and backpack. "Call it whatever you want, Willy. Believe everything they say about the Jews, I don't care. But David _is_ my friend and he will _always_ be my friend. Just because he believes in a certain religion, doesn't make him any different. At least, not to me."

Willy got up and reached for his pack. As he slipped it on, he asked, "So what do you tell yourself, when you're aiming your rifle at these people who 'believe in a certain religion'?"

Kendrick started to open the front door, and stopped. Turning to Willy, he said, "I tell myself that I don't know them, and that orders are orders. Then I try to convince myself they're not real people. And at the end of the day, when I'm tired of lying to myself, I begin to accept the fact that I'll be going to hell for what I've done to them."

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note **- These next two chapters contain scenes that may be disturbing to some readers. Although fictional in nature, the scenes are based on actual events.

.

.

**Chapter 14**

**.**

_Over the wall, through holes, and past the guard_

_Through the wires, ruins, and fences._

_Plucky, hungry, and determined_

_I sneak through, dart like a cat._

_._

_At noon, at night, at dawn,_

_In snowstorm, cold or heat._

_A hundred times I risk my life_

_And put my head on the line._

_._

_Under my arm a gunny sack,_

_Tatters on my back,_

_On nimble young feet,_

_With endless fear in my heart._

_._

_But one must endure it all._

_One must bear it all,_

_So that tomorrow morning_

_The fine folk can eat their fill._

_._

_Over the wall, through holes and bricks,_

_At night, at dawn, at noon._

_Plucky, hungry, artful,_

_I move silently like a shadow._

_._

_And if the hand of destiny_

_Should seize me in the game,_

_That's a common trick of life,_

_You, mother, do not wait up for me._

_._

_I will return no more to you,_

_My voice will not be heard from afar._

_The dust of the street will bury_

_The lost fate of a child._

_._

_And only one request_

_Will stiffen on my lips:_

_Who, mother mine, who_

_Will bring your bread tomorrow?_

**The Little Smuggler**

By **Henryka Lazawert**

**.**

David hurriedly pushed his way through the mass of people in the market square. It was a beautiful spring day, but he couldn't enjoy it, not after what he'd just witnessed. Barely conscious of his own footsteps, he focused on just one thing: getting back home to Hannah. She _had_ to be okay; their baby _had_ to be okay.

Arriving at his apartment building, David ran in the front entrance and straight into two housing committee members.

"Oh, I know you," one of them said as she reached over to stop her colleague. "You live with the Vilozny family upstairs. The name is, Strysky…Stratski…"

"Star-sky," David answered curtly. He'd been trying to avoid the two women as much as possible. Since the population in the ghetto had risen to an all-time high, the _Judenrat_ had increased their efforts to collect more money. It seemed the most profitable method they'd found was to advise tenants who didn't contribute their fair share of fees to expect more boarders in their already cramped apartments. As an extra incentive for compliance, a list of recalcitrant renters was posted at the entrance of every apartment building.

"Oh, yes. I remember now," the woman said. "As you know, with so many people coming into the ghetto now…"

"Here you go, Frau Litzer," David interrupted, feeling for the crumpled ration card in his pocket. As he handed it to her, he added, "Will this satisfy our flat's obligation for this week?"

Nearly snatching the paper from his hand, she answered, "Why yes, young man. _Dzięki_!"

David nodded a quick acknowledgement and started towards the stairs when he heard, "And tell your uncle I hope to see him again at the bakery before next Sabbath!"

Brushing off the invitation from the widow, David rushed up the flight of steps, not stopping until he reached his apartment. When he flew in the front door, Anka and Shlomo were sitting at the table and immediately looked up at him.

"David, what is wrong…" Anka started to ask, but David, seeing Hannah on the couch, just shook his head.

"It's nothing, Mother Anka…" he wheezed, staring at Hannah and trying to catch his breath. "I need to talk to you, Hannah." David stepped over and offered his hand to her. Hannah's pregnancy was starting to show, and every day, seeing that rounded stomach brought David a mixture of happiness and concern.

"What is it?" Hannah asked.

"Not here," David whispered. He glanced over at the washroom, but knew even in there it would be hard to keep their conversation private. "Let's go out in the hall."

He led Hannah out the front door and down the hall until they reached the stairway landing. Seeing no other place to sit, he slipped off his jacket and laid it on the top step for Hannah. Hesitantly, she sat down and remained silent until he joined her.

"Is the baby all right?" he asked, staring at her bulging belly.

"David…" Hannah reached up and touched his cheek. "What's the matter? Why are you so upset? Tell me!"

David folded his arms across his stomach. It was still churning and didn't feel like it would ease up anytime soon. He glanced around once more to make sure they were alone.

"I was coming back from the _Judenrat_ and didn't want to go through the market…it's so crowded there, you know." Hannah nodded in acknowledgement and kept her eyes glued on his. "So I went around and came down Nalewki Strasse, the part that runs along the wall?"

Hannah again nodded. "Yes, I know. Where one of the smuggling holes is, right?"

"Yes, I guess I was surprised…" David paused, taking a deep breath. "I didn't think that in the middle of the day…but this small boy, maybe five years old, began to crawl out from under the wall. All of a sudden, he started screaming and clawing the ground. There was someone else on the other side, swearing. I could tell they were beating him, which only made him scream louder. And the look on his face—it was horrible! I ran over, with another man, and we grabbed his arms, but as soon as we did, there was the sound of a gunshot. We pulled him out but…he wasn't moving." As his tears started to fall, David closed his eyes, unable to look at Hannah anymore.

After a long moment, Hannah placed her head against his. David brushed the side of his face with his hand, and tried to compose himself.

"We had to leave him there, dead and bloodied, by the wall. I don't know if he has a mother, or anybody who will miss him." Sitting up a little straighter, he said, "When I see bodies left out on the street, I can't imagine having to do that to someone I love. And I look at you, and Papa…at all of us, and think 'how long can we keep going like this?' What if some day that's our child being left by that wall?"

David inhaled shakily, and let out a long sigh. He took hold of Hannah's hand and intertwined their fingers. "I didn't mean to upset you by telling you that," he said. "When I saw that man get beaten to death during Kristallnacht, I thought I'd never see anything more dreadful."

Hannah leaned against him. "That poor little boy. How could someone kill—?"

She stopped abruptly and pressed David's hand down on her stomach. He nearly jumped when he felt something press into his palm.

"Was that the baby?" he exclaimed.

Hannah smiled widely. "That's the third time I've felt him today." She put her other hand on top of his. "I think he wants you to know what _life_ feels like in your hand."

David wanted to reach out and kiss her, but suddenly he was struck by a wholly different desire.

"Hannah, there's something I haven't told you," he said, taking his hand off of her stomach. "Last Christmas, when Kendrick went home to visit his parents, I asked him for a favor: to go see your parents." Hannah's face lit up, but her expression only made it harder to continue. "He went to your apartment building, but no one was there…"

"You mean my parents weren't home?" she asked hesitantly.

"No. No one was living in the building anymore. It was boarded up and empty." David watched her hopeful look turn somber. "Kendrick was able to get inside and went to their apartment. All the furniture was still there, but your parents were gone."

Hannah turned away and stared down the flight of steps. She stayed silent for a long time, long enough that David started to worry. Finally, she raised her head and looked at him.

"Ever since those refugees started coming through Skozenka, talking about how they were kicked out of their homes, I was afraid the same thing had happened to my parents," Hannah said, tugging absently at the hem of her skirt. "But when I never even got a letter, that's when I started fearing the worst. Why did you wait so long to tell me about this, David? Didn't you know how worried I was?"

"Of course I knew," he answered. "That's why I _didn't_ want to tell you. Kendrick tried to find out where everyone had gone, but nobody could tell him anything. I did almost tell you, a couple of times, but I was so scared of hurting you…"

"Hurting me?" Hannah interrupted.

"What I mean is, I didn't want to see you heartbroken. As long as you didn't know, there was a chance they'd turn up somewhere, or you'd hear from them and things would've been okay."

"Well, things didn't turn out okay, did they?" Hannah reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "People always seem to think that women are just frail little creatures, running around and waiting for strong men to come and save them. Maybe some of us are, but I'm not one of them." With an intense look, she said, "We're not teenagers anymore, David. If you say something that upsets me, I'm not going to run away. I love and trust you. Do you know what that means?"

David nodded his head automatically.

"No, I don't think you do. I trust you with my life. If you pulled me into a burning building, I'd follow without question. But when you don't even trust me with news about my own family, that hurts."

Feeling as low as he could get, David thought about the boy he left lying dead and alone beside a dirty brick wall. He'd trusted Hannah enough to tell her about that horrifying ordeal, yet he was afraid to admit her parents were nowhere to be found. They might be dead, but he couldn't say that with certainty; not like the boy whose life had been plucked from his tiny body less than an hour ago. As much as that had torn at David's heart, Hannah's last words nearly ripped it in half.

"You're right, I should've told you months ago," he said. "It's just that, feeling the baby kick made me realize what you must've been going through all this time. I'd want to know everything if I hadn't heard from Papa for months, even if it wasn't good news. I promise, I won't keep anything from you again—" David grimaced as his stomach suddenly let out a loud growl.

"You should go and get your rations before it gets too late," Hannah remarked. Taking a longer look at him, she asked, "Have you eaten since breakfast?"

"No, I'm not hungry…" David could've slapped himself for forgetting his promise so soon. "I mean, I can't go and get anything."

"David? Why not?" Hannah's full attention was on him. "Didn't you get your ration card?"

"I gave it away," he answered, feeling his face flush. "Those two women from the housing committee were in the foyer when I came home. I just had to see you, so I gave them the card, hoping it'd be enough and they'd leave us alone for awhile."

"Oh, David," Hannah moaned, "that was enough food for three days!"

"I'll find something, don't worry. You have to eat for two now."

"Is that what you think I meant?"

Dumbfounded, David stared at her. He'd been making sure she got an extra portion of his food ever since she became pregnant. He wished he could give her more, but the Nazis had cut their bread rations in half before winter even ended.

"David, look at you! You're becoming nothing but skin and bones. I've got enough to eat, really I do. Everyone gives me a little something here and there; you shouldn't be starving yourself."

Hannah obviously hadn't been near a mirror lately. Other than her larger than normal stomach, the rest of her body had been steadily getting thinner. And she wasn't the only one. Papa, Uncle Emir, the Viloznys—each was beginning to show the effects of their ridiculously meager diet. The Germans had decreed the rations adequate to live on, but the ever-growing number of corpses on the sidewalks every morning attested to a different reality.

For David, it was all becoming a matter of surviving.

Surviving until he could get a new job. Surviving on as little as he could so Hannah had enough to eat. Surviving until some country finally defeated Hitler and put an end to his ruthless persecution of Jews.

How long that would take, David couldn't venture a guess. From what he'd heard through sources in the ghetto, Germany had conquered Yugoslavia and Greece and was heading west towards France. _They couldn't take over the whole world, could they?_ And even though David wanted to see Hitler's army brought down in defeat, he couldn't help but constantly wonder whether Kendrick was still alive. It was a strange position to be in.

As David focused his attention back to Hannah, another rumble erupted from his stomach.

"I'll go and see if one of the soup kitchens still has some food," he said, knowing that Hannah was ready to go find him something if he didn't.

As David got up and reached out to help Hannah, he heard someone running up the staircase just below them. Surprised to see it was Malinka, David hoped she didn't have bad news from the hospital.

"David!" she gasped. "You need to go to the _Judenrat_ right away!"

"What is it, Malinka?" Hannah asked, her voice full of concern.

"They're looking for workers—a German clothing manufacturer." Malinka paused to catch her breath. "We just heard about it at work. They're going to open a factory here, in one of the buildings on Stawki Strasse."

David looked down at Hannah.

"Go!" she said, pushing him away with a flick of her hand.

"But what about Papa and Uncle?" David asked, knowing they needed work just as badly as he did.

"If they come home soon, I'll tell them about the news, but you need to go now. Word will spread quickly!" Hannah's eyes were large and bright, and the pleading look on her face propelled him to start down the staircase.

As he reached the first landing, Malinka shouted out, "Make sure you tell them you're a tailor's apprentice!"

Answering over his shoulder, David answered, "I will…and thank you!"

.

David wasn't sure how long it took him to cover the two kilometers to the administration building, but it was faster than any distance he'd ever covered before. His hopes wavered somewhat when he rounded the last corner and saw close to a hundred people standing on the sidewalk, obviously waiting there for the same reason he'd come. Taking his place at the end of the line, David leaned up against the wall and gave himself a moment to catch his breath.

Had he not turned his head a little, he may not even have noticed the man lying on the ground just a few feet away. Almost hidden by the group of people standing in front of him, David thought he might be sleeping. But when a moderate breeze rolled down the street and lifted the tattered coat flap off of his legs, David saw the bloated and yellowing limbs underneath infested with dozens of open sores. The old Jew had most likely died from starvation earlier that morning; his swollen legs and feet just one of the disease's ironic symptoms.

David glanced at the people standing closest to the fallen man, but their attention wandered around in every direction except at the forlorn figure at their feet. David couldn't blame them; he'd been guilty before of the same response to death. Seeing corpses laid out like trash each morning had become the norm and no longer prevented him from leaving home early. Now, he would only offer a sympathetic look to an abandoned corpse if it was a young child or infant. And while the rich in the ghetto could afford to bury their dead in the Jewish cemetery, the majority, too poor to pay the fifteen zloty fee, were forced to leave the solemn task to the _Judenrat_.

David lifted his head and watched as giant masses of white clouds slid across the pale sky. Spring would arrive in a few days, bringing some relief at last, but the warmer temperatures wouldn't help alleviate the stranglehold starvation had on the people trapped inside the ghetto. No matter what the weather felt like outside, inside, hunger always felt like hunger. It clawed mercilessly at every organ and nerve, using his ever dwindling supply of willpower and strength as a source of nourishment. Unlike his stomach, hunger was always fed and satisfied.

As he shifted his stance from one foot to the other, David tried to find something else to occupy his thoughts. The line of job seekers inched forward in front of him. He watched a few rickshaw drivers peddle their passengers along the street as small groups of children, clothed in tattered rags, tried to beg money from any well-dressed person that happened by. When the people ahead of him unexpectedly moved to the side, David realized they were making way for two of the Jewish Council members to pass. Although the crowd's actions could be considered a form of respect, David felt the real reason was because the two men were so obese the people standing in their way didn't want to get knocked over. Once the immaculately dressed officials waddled past him, David cringed, thinking how part of his rations would inevitably end up on these men's dinner plates.

When another rumble shook his stomach, David leaned back against the brick wall behind him. The line had barely moved since he got there, and at the rate it was going, he'd be lucky if he got back home in time for dinner. He was so tired, and the full impact of all the day's events still hadn't hit him yet. Feeling light-headed, he slid down to the sidewalk and made himself as comfortable as possible. Slowly, his eyelids began to drift shut. For a while he listened to the sounds coming from the street and the mixture of Polish and Yiddish voices. He opened his eyes and the people in front of him still hadn't moved.

Feeling he had a few more minutes, he let his head fall back and rested his eyes one more time.

.

**Chapter 15**

**.**

"David?"

The sound of someone calling his name didn't immediately pull David out of his hazy awareness. He'd been dreaming, he knew that, but wasn't sure if the voice he was hearing was part of the dream or not. What certainly felt real was the sting of a hand slapping his face.

"David! Wake up!"

He opened his eyes and saw Jakob kneeling beside him. Standing behind his father was Uncle Emir. Both men had worried frowns on their faces. David pulled his arms out from underneath him and wearily pushed his stiff body up from the ground. His head was spinning and he leaned back, hoping to brace against something firm.

"Are you alright, my son?" Jakob asked. He gripped David with both hands and shook him firmly.

Struggling against the persistent force wanting to pull him back into unconsciousness, David tried to make sense of his surroundings. The sky had grown darker, and dusk was quickly approaching. Other than his two relatives, there was hardly anyone out on the street.

"Come, get up. It is almost time for curfew."

Jakob leaned in closer, and he and Emir each took hold of an arm and hoisted David up onto his feet. As blood rushed from his head, David's dizziness intensified and he gladly let himself be helped along by the two older men. Moments later, a sudden realization hit causing him to stumble as he tried to stop.

"Papa! We need to go back! I didn't talk to anyone about the job."

Instead of stopping, Jakob and Emir kept trudging forward. Too weak to resist them, David concentrated on moving one leg in front of the other.

After what seemed like an eternity, they arrived at their apartment building. It was dark now, and as David walked upstairs, every joint in his body ached and burned at the additional exertion. When he finally got to the third floor, the mild headache he'd awoken with had grown into a sickening migraine. Bothered by the hall lights, David closed his eyes and let Jakob guide him into the apartment.

"David!"

Hannah's voice was the first one he heard. When she approached, he wanted to reach out and embrace her, but both arms were still being held by Jakob and Emir. He cracked his eyes open just long enough to see he was being led towards the couch, and then had to close them again. A third pair of hands took hold of him, and within a few moments, David was lying down with a damp cloth on his forehead. Someone removed his shoes while another stuck the rim of a glass in his mouth. He took a couple sips of the lukewarm and brackish water, but it was all his stomach could stand.

Thankfully, no one was trying to ask him any questions and as the voices grew fainter and farther apart, David gradually sunk back into a sleepy state. Muttered words like 'fever' and 'hospital' tapped at his attention, but the relentless pull of unconsciousness won out, drawing him quickly into oblivion.

* * *

Three days later, David still hadn't ventured far from the couch. He could make it to the washroom and back, provided he had an hour or so to recuperate, but that was the limit of his stamina. Yesterday, he'd finally been able to hold food down and since then he'd been feeling better.

Looking out of the window, David guessed it was sometime in the afternoon, judging by the way sunlight fell on the buildings. For now, he was alone in the apartment. Hannah, Anka and Shlomo had gone to the market, Malinka was at the hospital, and Papa and Emir were working at their new job making brooms in an underground factory. Some daring entrepreneurs had discovered a lucrative business in manufacturing items in the ghetto, then selling them on the Aryan side. Completely illegal, of course, but after bribing certain Jewish police officers or the Polish "Navy-Blues" to turn a blind eye, the merchandise could be smuggled out.

While David was glad that Jakob and Emir had found jobs, he was worried about them working in such a dangerous activity. Just one person getting caught carrying goods out of the ghetto could have widespread and deadly consequences.

Last month, the Nazis had executed seventeen people, including women and children, caught trespassing on the Aryan side. Within hours, they had arrogantly posted special notices about the murders. Malinka had told David about an incident where fifty-three Jewish men were shot because one tenant, who lived in their building, assaulted a Navy-Blue. David feared that Papa or Emir could easily be swept up in this type of mass reprisal, even if they weren't the ones who got caught.

The sound of someone coming in the front door chased his worried thoughts away.

"Papa, what are you doing home?" David asked, surprised to see Jakob. "Is everything alright?"

Jakob took his hat off and started to unbutton his coat. "Yes, just fine. Your uncle is downstairs talking to Frau Loydman." After setting his coat on the back of a kitchen chair, Jakob came over and sat down beside David. "And how are you feeling?" he asked, placing a hand on David's forehead.

"I'm still tired." David pulled the blanket covering him closer to his chin. "But my stomach feels better."

"We were worried that you had the typhus, but the rash never appeared." Jakob let his hand settle on David's chest. "We were all very scared, especially Hannah."

David frowned at hearing how sick he'd been. Considering how weak and dizzy he still felt, it wouldn't surprise him if Jakob had already told him this before.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep before I had a chance to talk to someone at the _Judenrat_," David said, remembering parts of an earlier conversation with Jakob. "It would've been nice for all of us to have gotten work again."

"You have nothing to be sorry for." Jakob patted his hand. "Knowing you, you would've gone to work sick and probably killed yourself earning a few extra _zloty_."

Grinning, David couldn't disagree with his father's assumption. But driving his compulsion to work was the desperate need to earn more money. Prices on everything, especially food, kept increasing. A loaf of bread was now selling for ten _zlotys_ and the bakers often sold out before noon. David hated to admit it, but he'd been tempted many times to sell at least one of the diamonds Uncle Emir had given him. Every time he looked at Hannah's growing pregnancy, he thought about the better food she'd be able to eat—apples, fish, even some milk, if they had more money. But Hannah kept telling him not to sell the precious gems.

"Oh, I almost forgot to tell you," Jakob said. "Your uncle arranged a deal with a couple of our coworkers at the factory. Their apartment has a garden growing up on the roof. In return for mending shoes, they will give him some vegetables when they are ripe."

"That's wonderful, Papa," David replied, even as a sudden stomach twinge reminded him that everything wasn't well at the moment. Jakob must have seen a change in his face.

"I'll see if we have some water," he said.

Jakob went into the kitchen and took out a glass from one of the cabinets. He held it under the faucet for a long time, but returned to the couch with the glass barely half full. Trying not to lose his thirst at the sight of the murky-colored water, David gulped it down as quickly as he could. Thankfully, the aftertaste didn't hit until the last swallow. He handed the glass back to Jakob and sighed deeply, hoping his stomach wouldn't object.

"You think you can eat more food now?" Jakob asked, taking a seat beside David. "I picked up something special for the soup tonight; a merchant was selling horsemeat."

"Horsemeat?" David asked. He was surprised that Uncle Emir or Papa would even consider eating meat that wasn't kosher. "But no one will want it, will they?"

A smile lit Jakob's face. "I was told that a rabbi was present during the slaughter," he said teasingly, then leaned closer and added, "I don't think the good Lord would mind if his children ate a little something _treif_ so that they won't starve. Between you and me, we'll call it 'Papa's special meat'."

David almost laughed, but he realized the significance of Jakob's actions. His father would rather risk breaking the laws of _kashrut _than see his family overcome by hunger. While none of them was ready to sit on the street and beg, their food supply was barely enough to last for a week; and that was exactly how often the ration cards were distributed.

Jakob patted David on the shoulder and took the empty glass out of his hand. He got up and went into the kitchen. David closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of pots and dishes being set out as Jakob began preparing dinner. The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was Uncle Emir commenting on the wonderful smell coming from the stove.

* * *

Kendrick's _Einsatzgruppe_ finished marching into the small Belarus town. That morning, the village had been surrounded, and over a dozen prominent Jews rounded up. They'd been told to inform their people to gather at the town square by noon in order to be resettled in the East. Everyone was to bring enough food for three days, warm clothing, identification papers and money.

Now, an hour later, Kendrick stood under the bright summer sun with the other men in his unit as the Russian Jews lined up in ragged rows.

"_Schnell_! _Schnell_!" the rough voice of a soldier barked, shoving an old man who seemed to be made of flesh and bones into the line of villagers. Frightened faces stared at him, probably not understanding the different language. Nonetheless, the huddled figures moved closer together, even though many were hampered by the big bundles they were toting.

Kendrick kept both hands on his rifle, using it to direct the Jews where to stand. Soon, they'd be systematically searched and stripped of any valuables. While waiting for the order to begin, Kendrick carefully studied each villager, having never seen so many Russians before. They didn't seem different from any other European, contrary to what he'd been taught. If anything, they looked like poor pheasants, hardly capable of posing a threat to themselves, much less the Third Reich. But, according to a speech made earlier by his battalion's _Sturmbannfuhrer_, these people were obviously fooling everyone.

"_Einsatzkommandos! The war against the Soviet Union is an essential component of the German people's struggle for existence. We are the ones who have been chosen to save European culture from the advancing Asiatic barbarism; to avenge all the bestialities which have been committed by this primitive Muscovite fold and spurred on by Jewish Bolshevism. You men represent the German sense of honor and race, and every battle we fight must be dictated by an iron will to bring about a merciless and total annihilation of the enemy." _

_Merciless and total annihilation…_

Kendrick silently repeated that phrase as he again scanned through the crowd standing in front of him. There were people here of all ages, from babies cradled in their mother's arms to the elderly leaning on their canes. The vast majority, adult men and women, did not make eye contact with the soldiers. Their faces were tense, as if waiting for some giant explosion to go off. None of the people looked sad, only concerned about what was going on. Occasionally, someone would turn to the person standing next to them and mutter quietly, but overall they remained very still.

…_of the enemy_.

The younger children were another matter. They smiled and approached the soldiers, only to be pulled back by an anxious parent's hand. Some of the littlest ones would gaze in wonder at the men and then, suddenly shy, retreat behind an adult's legs, tiny hands covering their red-cheeked faces.

"Undesirables," Kendrick's commander muttered contemptuously at a sergeant standing beside him. "Look at these filthy swine. Not only are they Jews, but Communists, too! Doubly inferior!" He flicked a piece of lint off his uniform sleeve and turned away as if unable to bear the sight of them.

Kendrick felt a cold despair in his belly. These were humans! No matter what religion they practiced, or where they lived, they had the right to a peaceful existence. He was having a harder and harder time believing that only the Master Race was entitled to dominate and rule over mankind. Especially when Hitler's elitist philosophy dictated which people were worthy of life and which were not.

"Herr Major," the sergeant remarked, as he leaned in closer to his superior. "Could we not complete our mission _and_ still spare the youngest?"

The Sturmbannfuhrer kept his feet planted and turned slightly towards the subordinate.

"Berlin wants to ensure a _permanent_ security for Germany, _not_ a temporary one," he answered. "If we just remove the threat these adults pose to the Reich, that will only accomplish half of our goal. These children have the same blood, the same inferior character, as their parents. If we allow them to survive, certainly they will want to exact revenge at some future time—and that makes them just as dangerous as the adults." The major placed his hands behind his back and jutted out his chin. "They must _all_ suffer the same fate, Sergeant. Otherwise, Germany will never be a free nation living victoriously in its conquered lands."

"_Jawohl, mein Herr_!"

Kendrick watched his sergeant salute the major and turn away, ordering his men to start searching the villagers. Prompted by the sergeant's action, a group of Ukrainian fighters, enlisted recently by the SS, raised their clubs in the air and shouted at the corralled Jews. When a few men in the crowd protested, they were attacked by the enlisted fighters who weren't afraid to use their truncheons. The powerful blows hitting Jewish heads quickly deterred any further rebellion.

After a few minutes, Willy strolled over from where he'd been standing a few feet away. He let his rifle hang from its shoulder strap and dug into a front pocket for a pack of cigarettes. After offering one to Kendrick, he lit both with a lighter.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked, and took a long drag.

Kendrick sucked in a deep lungful, hoping the acrid smoke would settle his nerves. "I'm trying not to think about it…at all."

Willy chuckled slightly. "_Ja_, that would be the best way. Just act like a machine." He shifted nervously from one leg to the other, tensing his shoulders as he dipped his head to take in another drag. "I don't like involving the children. They shouldn't be part of this."

Kendrick nodded and glanced at some of the other soldiers standing nearby. "If it makes you feel better, we're not the only ones feeling uncomfortable," he said.

Willy followed his gaze to a pair of Ukrainians searching through the heavy coat of an old woman. Unlike many of their cohorts, these two were very young, barely in their teens. Their embarrassed looks and stiff arm movements indicated their awkwardness as if they were handling their own grandmother.

Notwithstanding the degradation of being searched by such youngsters, Kendrick couldn't help but think of how uncomfortable the Jewess must be, wearing so much clothing. She had layered a sweater and several skirts and blouses under a wool coat. Despite the warm day, several villagers were dressed similarly, obviously anticipating a cold winter where they were going.

After an hour or so had passed, the last Jews had been stripped of their rubles and jewelry. The Ukrainian fighters and SS men who'd conducted the search stepped back from the demoralized crowd and awaited the next order. Catching a nod from the major, the Ukrainian leader shouted out a short speech to the Jews in Russian.

Warily, the villagers picked up their heavy bundles and bulging canvas bags. Others harnessed themselves to the front of wooden carts filled with more baggage plus an additional elderly grandparent or disabled adult. The Jews began to move like a giant caterpillar, inching their way forward down the road leading out of town. To Kendrick, the procession looked like some sad pauper's parade.

He and Willy waited to join the end of the line while others from his platoon stood farther back. The men who remained behind in the town had orders to round up anyone found hiding and execute them immediately. Once they'd completed that task, every structure would be set on fire so that there'd be nothing left standing, or alive.

As Kendrick slowly herded the Jews from their homes he felt torn from everything familiar and decent. His conscience swore at him, screaming injustice, but he had no choice. Just like the condemned people he followed, he was walking his last mile—a prisoner with no hope of redemption or chance of escape.

Ahead of him, someone in the crowd started singing. Within seconds, the solo voice was joined by a rousing chorus of others, their tight expressions gradually replaced by proud smiles. Kendrick couldn't understand the words, but the melody was strong and moving. There was a sense of unity, a moment of banding together, but the cohesiveness only made him feel even more alone. He wondered if these people had any idea of what lay ahead.

Three hundred strong, the Jews continued to sing as they left behind their village and homes, the tune rising and falling with the rhythmic marching. Their indomitable spirit was almost enough to lull Kendrick into thinking this would not end horribly. He wanted to believe he was really taking these people to a new place where they could live amongst their own kind, out of the way of Hitler's anarchy. Wasn't that what every man wanted? To be left in peace to raise a family as he saw fit?

Kendrick glanced up at the clear blue sky, half expecting to see a storm gathering in the distance. It was a far too perfect day for what was about to happen.

After walking for about a mile, the group of villagers entered a thick section of forest along the road. Tall pine and spruce trees grew like a fortress wall, separating the woods from the grassy plain and plowed fields they'd passed by earlier. Patches of yellow and pink buttercups, along with white daisies, dotted the shady ground, providing a colorful contrast to the inky green branches and dark brown trunks. Stands of birch trees, with their near-white limbs and bright green leaves, added to the collage. Off in the distance, Kendrick thought he heard the call of a dove.

At a pre-marked location, the squad of soldiers leading the Jews stepped off of the road and split into two columns, forming a wide corridor that extended into the lush woods. The singing stopped and the villagers glanced nervously at each other, unsure what to make of this new trail. Kendrick held his position near the back of the wide line, his stomach tightening as the tension from the worried prisoners increased.

The Ukrainians guards quickly pulled out their truncheons, giving the Jews no choice but to move forward into the human-lined passageway. Kendrick and his fellow soldiers purposely shoved the villagers into a tighter and narrower line, forcing them into the thickly wooded forest where they would not be seen. Many Jews balked and looked around in all directions, as if searching for some way to escape. One man dropped his bundle and tried to run through a narrow opening between two soldiers. A Ukrainian swung his wooden club, catching the escapee on the back of the head. He dropped to the ground, bleeding.

"Idiot! _Chego ti ozhidal_!" screamed the Ukrainian.

He stood over the fallen Jew, unfazed by the stream of blood gushing from the open wound. Not finished with the assault, the guard raised his large booted foot and kicked the helpless man in the back. Another villager rushed over to the victim, and hastily got him to his feet. Several Ukrainians laughed as the two men hobbled back towards the line of terrified onlookers.

People now clung tightly to one another, some crying openly, as they stumbled towards their last destination.

They must know what lay ahead, Kendrick thought. His stomach had twisted into a large knot and was threatening to force what remained of its meager contents back through his throat. For a moment, he had to close his eyes as a dizzying wave of nausea hit. Taking some deep breaths, Kendrick concentrated on the calming forest smell, and hoped he wouldn't pass out.

After a short walk, the soldiers and Jews emerged onto a grassy clearing. It was a peaceful spot, buffered from winds by the surrounding forest and padded by a thick layer of grass. Near the edge was a naturally formed depression, looking exactly like what it would be. A mass grave.

"_Juden_! Throw down your food and belongings into separate piles and get undressed!" the major called out. Several of the Ukrainian militia echoed the command.

"Mama!" cried a tiny girl with blond pigtails. Her mother grabbed her arm and knelt down beside the child. Tears rolled from her eyes as she unbuttoned the girl's coat with shaking hands.

A few young men broke from the crowd but were immediately assaulted by the Ukrainians swinging their rifle butts and truncheons with relish. Hearing the threatening curses from the SS, the villagers hung their heads in defeat and slowly began to remove their outer clothing. Except for the muffled cries of distraught children, everyone mechanically obeyed in silence, as if they were resigned to their fate.

Kendrick took his place in the firing squad, blanking his mind to what he had to do. Willy came up and stood beside him, but neither looked at each other. Two of their fellow soldiers used rifle barrels to prod half a dozen naked adults to the edge of the pit. With their backs to the Germans, the first victims began to tremble and cry. Forcing down his empathy, Kendrick raised his rifle and waited for the order to shoot.

As the first volley echoed through the clearing, hysterical screams and cries erupted from the crowd. People broke away, in pairs and singly, from the doomed group and ran towards the cover of the surrounding forest. Swiftly and methodically, they were gunned down, their flight for freedom aborted. Mothers holding babies in their arms flung themselves at the feet of the German commanders, searching for mercy.

"_Pozhalujsta_!" they begged, some even thrusting their children out at the uniformed men. Each pitiful face looked intensely at their captors, hoping to spare their youngest.

Without a shred of decency, one lieutenant simply grabbed a woman by the hair, and dragged her to the execution spot. Throwing both her and the cradled infant to the ground, he pulled his revolver out of the holster.

"_Nyet_! _Nyet_!' the young mother pleaded as she came to her knees.

The officer coolly pointed the gun at her and fired. She dropped lifelessly to the ground, a small, black hole oozing a trail of blood from her forehead. The baby, still wrapped in its mother's arms, started to scream, kicking two tiny legs into the air. One more shot from the revolver silenced the infant forever. With a scowl, the lieutenant wedged his foot under the woman's corpse and with a forceful heave, rolled both bodies down into the pit.

"Good riddance!" the officer muttered, waving his gun at the other mothers.

With their sobbing children desperately trying to hold on, the women were shoved in front of the firing squad. Kendrick swallowed hard as he brought his rifle back up and pointed it at the half-naked targets. There was nothing he could do at this point, no way to stop the massacre taking place. He could only make sure his aim was true and lethal—it was the only decent thing left to offer these helpless victims. When the order came to fire, the screams from the remaining survivors almost drowned out the rifle fire.

The Ukrainian collaborators, and several SS officers, plunged into the frightened mass of Jews waiting to be shot, searching for anyone who was not fully undressed. Striking quickly, the soldiers hit those who hadn't complied and viciously ripped their clothes off. Relatives watched in horror as old men and women were beaten when they didn't move fast enough. Naked and bleeding people ran about helplessly, tearing at their hair and filling the air with heart-wrenching cries. Some of the older men fell to their knees and raised their arms skyward, their hands clasped together as if in prayer. Families clung tightly to each other, trying to shield their children's eyes from the atrocities taking place.

After almost an hour of unrelenting killing, only a few individuals were left. When the German guards motioned for them to move, the Jews walked over to the edge of the mass grave without resisting. Their heads and shoulders hung low, and their faces showed no emotion. Anyone could see that their spirits were broken, yet they still seemed to carry an air of dignity about them. Quietly, they took their places were nearly three hundred of their fellow countrymen had already died.

German rifles retorted one last time, and the bodies fell lifelessly onto the pile of dead in the grave below. Kendrick finally let his rifle drop for the last time. He was physically and emotionally drained—even though he'd participated in mass shootings before, this one was the worst. Not yet able to pry himself away from the death scene, Kendrick watched a couple of _Scharfuhrers_ inspect the last layer of humans, looking for any signs of movement. When they saw the slightest twitch of a hand or foot, they didn't hesitate, and fired into the mound of human flesh.

Kendrick pulled out a pack of cigarettes and hastily shoved one in his mouth. He had no idea what time it was, but it felt like ages had passed since he'd first entered the village this morning. Leaving his post, he walked across the clearing strewn with pieces of torn clothing, mismatched shoes and children's toys, desperate to find a private place to think for a while. Reaching a secluded spot by a large birch tree, he fell bonelessly to the ground, unable to take another step. Sweat broke out on his back, making him shiver as a light breeze blew in. His cigarette slipped from his lips and dropped into the grass, but it didn't matter; he was too busy gasping for air.

Lying on the leaf-strewn ground, his hazy mind drifted in limbo, caught in a netherworld between the horror of the present and the dark abyss of what lay ahead. It seemed as if death was just waiting for permission to take his soul from this wretched place. And he was very close to giving in. Considering the unforgivable act that he'd just committed, death would be a welcome relief.

Unwanted emotions began to surface—anger, sadness, fear—each battling the other for supremacy, when all Kendrick longed for was numbness. Wasn't there a place to go, somewhere to hide, where he could be completely alone with his mind free from torment? A black void where nothing could penetrate—no thoughts, no feeling, no being?

Kendrick pressed his aching forehead into the palms of his hands. God, he'd never be able to bear the guilt of what he'd done…the memory of all those faces staring at him…no, not that. He didn't want to remember the faces…not ever, ever again.

"_If you really want to survive the war, then you're going to have to make sure you're dead."_

He heard his old sergeant's voice, as clear and perfect as if the man was standing right next to him.

"_How do you convince yourself that you're dead?"_

"_Everyone has their own way. You'll soon find yours."_

Kendrick sat back on his heels. He looked up through the bright green leaves of the birch tree beside him and noted how the colors contrasted with the royal blue sky. A gentle gust of wind hustled through the woods. The leaves waved like hundreds of tiny flags; their silvery undersides twinkling as each captured a ray of sunlight. Caught in the breeze, his hair moved back and forth across his forehead, soothing it like a soft, downy brush. As the wind died down, it seemed to carry away the last echoes from the voices of the murdered Jews', leaving the forest unmarred and serene. Making his decision, Kendrick let his soul rise to a heavenly place that would hold his essence intact and pristine, unblemished by the scars of war. Someday, when he needed it back, he'd know where to look.

He turned to the side and saw the Ukrainians sorting through the Jews' belongings, looking for hidden valuables. Pulling himself off the ground, Kendrick straightened his uniform and brushed off the dirt and grass. He picked up his rifle and slung the leather strap over his shoulder. What was left of Kendrick John Hutchinson walked over to join his comrades. He didn't even have to look back at where his real self still lingered. This new person felt fine without a soul.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Thank you guys for reading and commenting!

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**Chapter 16**

**.**

"But David, I don't like it!" Hannah leaned back on the couch and placed both hands on her bulging stomach. "Please don't do this."

David let out a sigh. For the moment they were alone in the apartment, but that didn't make having this conversation any easier.

"Hannah, chances are I could be picked up anyway, and then we'd get nothing. At least this way, we'll get extra rations."

David could tell his reasoning wasn't easing Hannah's worries over the Nazis' latest scheme. To make sure there were enough workers for German enterprises that had recently started in the ghetto, a forced labor program had been enacted. David thought a better description of it was plain slavery; a system that allowed the Nazis to kidnap able-bodied men and women off the streets. Hoping to stem these random abductions, the _Judenrat_ was providing an allowance to families with a member who volunteered to work.

"But there's no guarantee that you'll stay in the ghetto," Hannah argued. "What if you get sent out to a farm? You could be gone for days, maybe even weeks!"

"I don't like it either, but what choice do I have? What choice do any of us have?"

With a groan of frustration, David got up and walked over to the window. If he stayed inside, there'd be no way he could earn any money or even claim a crucial meal from the soup kitchen. Outside, his chances of obtaining food were definitely greater, but so was the risk of being picked up during a labor roundup. Even Shlomo, who'd secured a worker's pass for his job at a German-run workshop, wasn't exempt from being thrown into the back of a lorry.

With his attention focused on the street below, David didn't hear Hannah come up behind him. The touch of her hand on his shoulder startled him for a second.

"I'm just worried that you won't be here when the baby is born," she said in a low voice.

David turned and looked at her. "Hannah, you know there's nothing…there's no place I would want to be than right here when that happens."

Hannah smiled sadly, but her eyes told David she knew the promise was out of his control. Just like their lives were. It was impossible to make plans when a whole day could be spent trying to obtain an extra bread ration. And with the increase of skeletal corpses lying on the sidewalks, David wondered if the Nazis' purpose for imprisoning the Jews didn't have a more sinister motive behind it other than as a ready supply of slave labor. But looking at Hannah's round belly chased those dismal thoughts away. Here was the promise of life, glowing like a bright candlelight in the midst of all the darkness and death surrounding them.

Taking Hannah's hand, David said, "You know, we haven't decided on a name yet."

"No, we haven't. What if it's a girl? What would you name her?"

David thought for a moment. "Maybe you should think of that one," he offered.

"Alright," Hannah said. "I've always liked the name 'Ahava', what do you think?"

"Ahava Starsky. That has a nice sound. What about a middle name?"

"Well, one of my grandmothers' names was Leah; the other was Ruth. Both were very nice and loving."

"I like Leah. Ahava Leah Starsky. Do you like that?"

"Yes, it's a beautiful name. Now, you choose a boy's name."

David glanced out the window at the street below. "I was thinking about Isaac," he said, "but I don't know." He looked at Hannah, hoping that he'd picked a good name.

"Isaac is perfect. And what's his middle name going to be?"

Shrugging his shoulders, David replied, "It was hard enough to come up with one name."

Hannah let out a quick laugh. "Well, I'm sure you can think of one more."

"How about…how about Nathaniel?"

"Isaac Nathaniel Starsky. He'll be proud to have a name like that."

* * *

Kendrick carefully lifted the tin can of boiling soup off of the makeshift campfire. Willy held out his bowl and waited while Kendrick poured in half of the can's contents. Settling back, Willy crossed his legs and placed the bowl in his lap. Kendrick emptied the rest of the can into his own bowl and leaned against the tree behind him. He dipped a spoon into the hot liquid and blew on it before putting it in his mouth.

Although his day wasn't over yet, it had been no different than the last twenty or thirty. The routine never seemed to change. At daybreak, he and his platoon would surround a village while the company commander would enter and find the rabbi or other community leaders. They'd be told of the plan to resettle all Jewish residents and then given a few hours to pack and be ready to travel. Of course, it was all a ruse, and by early that same afternoon, several hundred people would be dead.

The faces of the victims, like the passing days, never seemed to change either. There were old and young, and every age in between. Most were families with children. And it was the youngest ones whose faces drew Kendrick's attention. Their bright eyes sparkled with innocence, pure and unmarred. Kendrick would stare deeply into them, hoping to draw in the raw essence and use it to refill his soul. But when it came time to take that purity away, the small amount he'd managed to save would slip right out again. And at the end of the day, he was left with the same empty shell of a body that he'd started with.

"You know what's missing from this meal?" Willy asked, breaking Kendrick's morose reflections.

For once, Kendrick was glad for the interruption. "I can think of several things, but I'm curious as to what you think it might be," he answered.

Willy put another spoonful of soup in his mouth. After swallowing, he said, "Beer. I'd give two day's worth of cigarettes for a nice, cold mug of Beck's or a Lowenbrau."

The mention of beer brought back memories of the last time Kendrick had seen David and Hannah. He could still picture the three of them sitting in the café, trying to say their last goodbyes to each other.

"_I heard someone say the other day that if you care about something and let it go, that it'll come back to you…if it was meant to be."_

"_How long do you think it'll be before we'll see each other again?"_

"_I don't know. No matter how long it is, I won't forget about you."_

Kendrick stared down at the bowl of soup in his hands. He wondered if David and Hannah had gotten married yet, and where they could be. The most likely place would be the Jewish residence district in Warsaw, but David's family could've easily headed farther east. With no way of knowing for certain, Kendrick was left with nothing but the hope he'd get a letter from David telling him where he was.

"Kendrick?" Willy's voice suddenly brought him back to the present. "Don't you wish they'd include beer in our rations?"

"_Ja_, they should. Then no one would ever want to leave the army."

Willy chuckled, but his humor faded fast. "I want to tell you something," he said, taking a quick glance around them.

Kendrick followed suit, sensing that Willy wanted to speak privately.

"Earlier this afternoon, I had to take the colonel's laundry to his tent. Before I got to the front entrance, I could hear him talking to the lieutenant about the—" Willy's eyebrows rose, "'special actions'."

Kendrick's eyes dipped down. "Yeah, so what did he say?"

"He's been talking to Himmler." Willy leaned closer. "They think this isn't good for the men. At least, not the married men. Starting soon, they won't be required to…participate."

Kendrick jolted upright. "_Scheisse_! They're no different from any of us."

"I think it's because of the children. Makes the men think of their own families."

"So, what're they implying?" Kendrick said bitterly. "That single men don't have consciences, too?"

"I know, it stinks. But someone has got to do the dirty work, _ja_?"

"Yeah," Kendrick muttered. _Dirty work_. That was a nice term for murder. He set the half empty bowl of soup on the ground and got up.

"Where are you going?" Willy asked.

"I'm going to take a walk," Kendrick said briskly, and headed into the woods behind their tent.

Once he got far enough from the camp, Kendrick slowed his pace. There was no need to rush. Here, in the forest, time had its own unique kind of measurement. Morning's arrival began by with long shadows suspended in a golden haze; midday was marked when light overhead could brighten even the darkest clumps of foliage, and dusk occurred as the last creamy orange of sun glare faded away and drew in the cool, evening air.

Kendrick took a few deep breaths, relishing the piney fragrance of the forest. It reminded him of the weekend camping trips he'd gone on with the Hitler Jugend. He'd loved those outings. Growing up in a big city, Kendrick never realized how different the air could smell once he was far away from the fumes of busses and automobiles. And the woods were not only peaceful, but beautiful, too. Spaced out between lush valleys nestled at the foot of snowcapped mountains, the Bavarian pine and spruce forests had made a lasting impression on him. And these woods, although a little different, were still pleasant reminders of where he had trained and excelled as a Hitler Youth.

As Kendrick walked deeper and deeper into the forest, those memories seemed to belong to a different life and time. Echoes of rifle fire and heart-wrenching screams began to drift through the air, tainting the serene atmosphere. Feeling very alone, Kendrick sat down on a fallen tree trunk and took a good look around. The sun must have already set because daylight no longer filtered in to highlight the treetops. With the bright shades of green gone, the forest was murkier and dimmer. Now, a deeper darkness had set in and Kendrick, suddenly nervous, realized he was a long way from camp.

He got up to head back the way he'd come, but before long found he couldn't recognize anything familiar along the landscape. Feeling he was still heading in the right direction, he kept walking, occasionally tripping over a rock or branch. As the forest grew darker, it got harder to see the trees ahead and Kendrick had to look skyward where the blackened limbs still contrasted with the late evening sky. When he stumbled again and fell on a sharp piece of rock, Kendrick swore out loud. He rubbed at the tender spot on his leg, feeling blood seep from the wound. Standing back up, he looked as far into the distance as he could, hoping to spot the bright flame of a campfire or lantern, but everything was pitch black.

With no other options, Kendrick stuck a hand out in front of him and tried to navigate through the thick undergrowth. He made the next hundred meters or so without incident and, feeling more confident, picked up his pace. Suddenly, he heard a noise behind him. The snapping of a branch under his feet muffled the low grunt, but it was loud enough to stop him in his tracks. Kendrick turned around, his eyes and ears straining to detect the slightest movement. But the forest remained still and silent, unlike the deafening heartbeat in his head.

Afraid to move one more step, Kendrick waited anxiously to hear another sound. He looked all around, searching for the tiniest speck of light to point him in the right direction. Finally, just off to the right, he saw a little flicker of brightness. Deciding to risk moving from his spot, he carefully picked up one foot and took a step forward. Kendrick listened closely, but heard nothing but the sound of his boot hitting the ground. Slowly, he kept walking. Thankfully, the forest remained quiet. Feeling braver, Kendrick started to walk faster, but after each step he would pause, straining to hear anything that didn't sound familiar.

Kendrick kept his eyes fixed on the welcoming beacon of light. Soon, he could see a second one; not as bright as the first, but definitely a sign of civilization. With two points to guide him, Kendrick could move a little faster and avoid running into, at least, the bigger trees. He was well into his march when a loud groan stopped him cold.

Instantly, he knew what it was, but the noise still made him shiver. "Widow Makers" they were called; large trees uprooted by strong winds and perched perilously up against another tree. The sound of the wooden trunks rubbing together produced an eerie moan, and at night, in a dark forest, it was enough to make anyone ready to jump out of their skin.

Shaking off the scary encounter, Kendrick moved forward only to freeze again immediately when he heard someone call his name.

"_Kendrick_?"

He spun around, not sure where the voice had come from. But hearing his name called wasn't what had startled him. It was the voice itself.

"David?"

Kendrick pivoted, looking in every direction, but other than the cluster of lights he'd been walking towards, there was nothing around him except for darkness.

"David!"

This time, he yelled out the name. Kendrick had no doubt it was his friend's voice. He couldn't have imagined it. The sound was too clear, too exact. He headed off in the direction he'd been facing when he first heard the call.

"DAVID!"

Why didn't he answer? Could he be hurt, unable to yell any louder? Frantically, Kendrick tried to comb through the foliage, hoping he would stumble across David's body.

"Kendrick!"

Kendrick instantly straightened, both surprised and disappointed by the person approaching with a large flashlight.

"I heard you yelling," Willy said. "I was just coming with Marc and Frederick to help me find you. Where have you been? I was getting worried!" The two other men bobbed their flashlights in greeting.

"I…It got dark faster than I realized," Kendrick answered, not really wanting to admit he'd gotten lost.

A slight chuckle arose from Willy's helpers.

"Well, at least you're safe. Come, it's almost time for evening roll call." Willy's light settled on Kendrick's leg, revealing the torn pants. "Your leg is bleeding. Are you hurt?"

Kendrick was glad that it was dark and the others couldn't see him blushing. "It's nothing, I'm fine," he muttered.

As the group turned towards the camp, Kendrick couldn't help but glance back over his shoulder one last time. He was positive it was David's voice that had first called out his name, and he couldn't understand why his friend hadn't answered him. Did he see Willy and the others approaching?

Kendrick stared at the backs of the men he was following. Certainly, they'd heard him yelling David's name out, but thankfully, no one mentioned anything. Right now, though, his leg was throbbing and he was anxious to get some place where he could tend to the wound. As for finding David, that would have to wait until daybreak. If Kendrick got up early enough, he could return to the woods and locate him before the rest of the camp got up. He just hoped that David wasn't hurt. Either way, it was going to be a long night.

* * *

David entered the apartment and was surprised to find no one home. It was nearly six o'clock in the evening and he'd just gotten back from working all day demolishing a bombed building on the Aryan side. It was the first time he'd been outside the sealed ghetto in nearly a year, but what he'd seen had only depressed him. Life there appeared 'normal.' People were going about their business, dressed in good clothing, carrying bags of food, all with healthy faces and bodies. There were no corpses lying on the sidewalks, no barefoot children begging to strangers, no yellow warning signs posted on doorways announcing "_Fleckfieber_!" David doubted the people living outside the ghetto ever had to worry about typhus fever.

But what had troubled him the most was being guarded the entire time by SS soldiers armed with rifles. He wouldn't have tried to escape, even if given the chance. It would have been unthinkable to leave Hannah or Papa in that hell hole. By the way he and the other men were constantly watched, David would've thought they were convicted rapists, just waiting for a chance to flee and terrorize blonde, blue-eyed German fraus.

Those thoughts quickly vanished when David spotted a piece of paper lying on the kitchen table. Picking it up, he read the neatly scripted handwriting.

_"David,_

_We are at the maternity hospital at 11 Elektoralna with Hannah. Come as fast as you can._

_Anka"_

Stunned, David didn't know whether to be excited or worried. Stuffing the note inside of his coat pocket, he hurried out of the apartment and headed for the hospital.

Arriving at the crowded waiting room, David found Jakob and Emir standing off to one side, their faces solemn. David's anxiety increased, and he pushed through the groups of people to get to his family.

"Papa! Where is she? Where's Hannah?"

Jakob placed an arm around David's shoulders. "She's upstairs. The pains started to come about five hours ago. Anka tried her best, but she said we should bring Hannah to a doctor."

"But I thought it wasn't time yet."

"Sometimes babies are ready early. I'm sure everything will be fine."

Jakob's words did little to calm David's fears. He glanced around the room. "Are all these people waiting for babies to be born?"

"It's a hospital," Uncle Emir answered quietly. "It doesn't matter to them that it's only for women. They think they'll get some medicine or food."

David's apprehension rose. "But if they're sick, won't that be bad for the baby?"

"Don't worry." Jakob tightened his hold on his son. "They keep the mothers separated, and Anka is with Hannah."

Resigned to waiting until he had more news, David bowed his head and leaned against Jakob. Neither they nor Emir spoke for a long time, but simply watched the ebb and flow of people as they came off the street looking for medication or a miracle; both equally impossible to get.

Finally, a woman wearing a white smock entered the room and called David's name. The three men followed her upstairs and then down a long, wide hallway. Stopping in front of an open door, she motioned for them to go inside.

David stepped into the large room. Several white bed sheets hung from the ceiling, producing smaller cubicles that each contained a patient's bed. He saw Anka standing by one at the far end of the room. She signaled for him to come then stepped aside when he got to the foot of the bed. Hannah was lying down, covered by a pink blanket. Nestled in her arms was a small bundle of thin cloth with a dark bit of fuzzy hair sticking out from the open top.

As she turned her attention from the bundle to him, David had never seen Hannah smile so beautifully.

With a twinkle in her eyes, she softly said, "Come see your son, David."

.

**Chapter 17**

**.**

"So, I've got another cousin," Starsky said happily, propping himself up straighter in his bed. "Isaac, right?"

David felt a stab burn in his heart. Even after all these years, it was painful to remember that time. "Well, some people are destined to have short lives—a lot shorter than what we would've preferred," he said.

Starsky's grin melted away as he glanced over at Hutch, who was in the window seat overlooking the hospital parking lot. Looking back at David, he asked, "Are you saying that he died?"

David let his head drop almost to his chest. "Yes," he said softly. "He was very small and thin, but had the face of a little angel. Hannah said he never cried, not once." David looked up, his eyes meeting Starsky's. "I think that, born so early, he was simply too weak to make a sound. Perhaps he might've been stronger, if Hannah could've gotten enough food to eat."

Hesitating, Starsky asked, "How long was he alive?"

"The doctor said he might live for a few hours, maybe as long as a day. I told Hannah I'd stay at the hospital with her, but she wanted to take him home. Of course, she was in no condition to leave; I knew that and she knew it, but staying at the hospital would've only made her worse. So, we went home, with our son."

"That must have been very hard," Hutch said. He turned and glanced down at Kendrick, who'd been very quiet for a long time. The older man was sitting in one of the room's vinyl chairs, apparently listening to the story but with a faraway look in his eyes.

"Yes, it was hard," David answered flatly.

The first time Hannah gave Isaac to him, David was petrified he would drop the infant, especially since he was so thin and light. When Isaac grimaced and kicked out a leg, David quickly returned him to Hannah, wondering if they were making the right decision by taking him home.

"Once we got back to the apartment, I had to hold him so Hannah could lie down. She was still in a lot of pain, but never complained. When she got settled, I started to hand Isaac to her."

"No," she said. "He's your son. Take a look at him, all of him, just as Yahweh gave him to you."

"And that's what I did," David said aloud. "He had a little chin and his hands and feet were so tiny…and then, Isaac opened his eyes. At that moment, he stole my heart forever. I could see all the way into his soul—he was so beautiful and perfect." David paused and wiped at a stray tear. "I covered him with the blanket and let Papa hold him—his first grandchild, you know."

Starsky gently smiled. "I'm sure that was something he never forgot."

"Oh! The look in Papa's eyes," David continued, "was so full of pride. He held Isaac for a long time, then showed him to Uncle Emir. Anka and Malinka had a good look, along with Shlomo. It didn't matter anymore that he only had a few more hours on this earth. Isaac represented life, and where there is life, there is always hope."

"I guess you don't even have a picture to remember him by, huh?" Starsky asked, tugging on the nasal cannula tucked over his ear.

David smiled and pulled his wallet out of his pants pocket. He opened it and retrieved a folded piece of newspaper.

"I have Kendrick to thank for this," he said, as he carefully opened the yellowed paper. "He gets the LA Times and came across this article several years ago." David handed the section of newspaper to Starsky.

Holding the article up, Starsky read it out loud.

"**Associated Press - Warsaw, Poland**. Construction workers excavating a new building site uncovered what has been identified as the remains of a small infant. Several old bones, including pieces of skull, were found wrapped in cloth. Police are investigating the unusual discovery but do not think foul play was involved because a strip of material with the Star of David on it was found in the remains. From 1940 to 1943, this building site was inside the boundaries of the infamous Warsaw Ghetto. At its height, more than 400,000 Jews were forced to live within the 1.3 square mile area. Disease and starvation claimed over 100,000 lives, while nearly 260,000 died after being sent in packed cattle cars to Nazi extermination camps."

"So, they found Isaac's grave?" asked Starsky.

David shrugged his shoulders. "No one can be sure. After seeing this article, I wrote to the police department. They said because it was a baby, they couldn't tell if it was a boy or girl. But since the child was most likely a Jew, it was taken and buried in the Jewish Cemetery."

"Did they find the baby close to where you buried your son?" Hutch asked.

"The officer who wrote back was very helpful. In his letter, he included a current city map and a copy of an old map of the ghetto." David frowned and shook his head. "It might have been the right spot, but back then, I really only knew _how_ to get around in the ghetto, not what all the streets were named."

"But you buried Isaac with an arm band, didn't you?" Starsky noted, handing the article back.

David took the paper and carefully folded it up again. "So many people were buried with nothing. I wasn't about to lay my son's body out on the sidewalk, and have him tossed into a mass grave. On the other hand, we didn't have the money to pay for a burial."

"What about the diamonds?" Hutch asked.

"That was brought up, and again Hannah said 'no.' At the time, I would've gladly given up the diamonds but Hannah insisted we needed to save them. I know she wanted to buy a casket, though. It was a tough decision, for both of us." Placing the article back in his wallet, David said, "But Hannah was a good mother. She gave Isaac a final bath, making sure she wiped every spot on his body. After she was done, she kissed her son one last time and laid him on the hospital blanket."

David sighed. The memory of that day was still as clear and sharp in his mind as it was 38 years ago. He remembered every little wrinkle on Isaac's skin, the faint sound of his breathing, and the miniature, but perfect, nose. With a lump in his throat, he said, "Anka gave her Malinka's baby gown; she'd been saving it for their next baby. She helped Hannah slip it onto Isaac: he looked like a fairytale prince."

David rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache starting to build.

"After everyone had said their goodbyes, Hannah and I took him to an open spot beside a bombed-out building. I dug a hole in the ground as best as I could. When it was deep enough, Hannah knelt down beside me holding Isaac. I took off my arm band and put it over his head, so he'd always know his heritage. We then said Kaddish and _el male rachamim._" David cleared his throat. This was the memory that haunted him the worst, the horrible feeling of leaving his only son there all alone. "Hannah handed him to me, but he wasn't warm anymore, only cold. I laid him in the grave and pushed the dirt back in." His voice cracked. "I don't know how I did it, I don't know how Hannah did it, but when we finished, we got up and walked away. To this day…I think that's the hardest thing I've ever had to do—excuse me."

David rose and hurried out of the hospital room. Kendrick remained seated in his chair, head bowed and eyes staring at the floor. Uncharacteristically, he did not follow his friend.

Clearing his throat, Hutch broke the silence in the room.

"You know, when you read about the war in history books, and you see all those numbers…" He paused and turned to Starsky, "you don't think about how each one is an individual person."

"No, you don't," Kendrick quietly replied. He raised his head and stared at Hutch. "Have you ever had to kill a person?"

Hutch glanced away for second. "Yes."

"Do you remember what they looked like?"

Dipping his head, Hutch answered, "Yes."

Kendrick put his hands together, and rubbed his thumbs across each other. "I have a hard time remembering any of mine," he confessed, his voice sounding mournful. "The Nazis didn't expect you to have a conscience. We were indoctrinated into thinking we had the right to wipe an entire race of people off of the face of the earth, integrity and morals be damned." He stood gingerly, stretching out stiff leg muscles, and turned slightly towards the door. His face looked stern but repentant. "We weren't all monsters, but we were all equally guilty. The truth is, every one of us had a choice…and we all made the wrong one."

Kendrick left the room. Starsky looked at Hutch, his eyes sad and questioning.

"It's almost time for your dinner," Hutch said, purposefully changing the subject.

Starsky's mouth pulled down at each side. "Terrific. I wonder if it's Chef Boyardee or Tuna Surprise night," he muttered sarcastically.

Hutch smiled. "Think of it as giving your body a break from junk food for a while."

"My _body_ was doing just fine on 'junk.' It was the extra lead supplement that it couldn't handle." Starsky fiddled with the bed sheet. "You wanna go see if they're alright?"

"Yeah. Be back in just a bit."

"Well, it's not like I could unplug myself and go with you. Got more tubes attached to me than a Macy's balloon on Thanksgiving Day."

Hutch grinned as he made his escape. It felt good to be able to indulge in such a simple pleasure as smiling again. But there were still too many times when he had to wrestle with fear while his partner straddled the fence between recovery and relapse. Memories came drifting back, of holding onto Starsky as he collapsed on a rooftop, or when he'd stood petrified beside the Torino, watching Starsky's blood spill out onto the blacktop. Those moments tore at his soul, like monsters lurking just below the surface of his skin.

Hutch shook himself, and strode away from Starsky's room.

He found Kendrick walking slowly down the hall towards the lobby. David was nowhere in sight, but Kendrick didn't appear to be looking for him. Hutch caught up to the solitary figure and walked along beside him.

"Did you find David?" he asked, still scanning the hallways.

"No, but I'm sure he'll return in a little while. Times like these, a man needs his privacy."

For a moment, Hutch was unsure whether it was David's privacy or Kendrick's that he was referring to.

His mind was quickly set at ease, though, when Kendrick asked, "How long have you and Starsky been partners?"

"Almost eight years. Went through the academy together, but until we made detective, we worked in different precincts." Hutch thought a little longer, and added, "Compared to your and David's relationship, I guess ours is just a drop in the bucket."

Smiling, Kendrick remarked, "Yes, we've known each other a long time. Seen a lot of good days together and weathered many bad ones. I would imagine, as a police officer, you must know what that feels like."

"Yeah," Hutch answered. "Sometimes, it seems like the bad will never end. The worst is times like this, when Starsky ends up in the hospital."

"Scares you, doesn't it?"

Hutch acknowledged with a forced smile. "I don't think I've ever said this to anyone, but I doubt if I could go on if Starsky…if something happened to him."

"I would imagine so, especially if you can't even say the word." Kendrick looked empathetic.

Feeling a little embarrassed, Hutch tossed a question back at the older man. "Is that how you felt, during the war, when you didn't know where David was?"

Kendrick slowed his pace, as though he was deep in thought.

"I knew what we were doing to the Jews, even before Hitler invaded Poland. By the time I was in Russia, I was starting to believe his wish to annihilate them was going to succeed. No one seemed to care about the Jews; they were betrayed left and right. By the way people hunted them down, you would have thought the Nazis were offering a hefty bounty on every head." Kendrick turned to briefly study a wall painting. "There were times when I thought David was dead," he said. "But then I'd sense something…I don't know how else to describe it, but I knew…I knew he was still alive."

The last sentence intrigued Hutch. "Do you ever feel you can read his mind?"

Kendrick let out a hearty laugh. "Yes, but it's so crazy in there, I wish I couldn't!"

Hutch couldn't contain his laughter either.

"Hey! There's sick people around here. Keep your voices down!" David scolded playfully, walking up behind them.

Hutch thought he could detect the trace of tears on David's face.

"I was about to leave without you," Kendrick said. Either he didn't notice the same marks or was just pretending he couldn't. "My stomach's been saying its hungry for the last hour now."

"Your stomach could stand a few less wake up calls," David replied, patting Kendrick's belly.

"Well, it's not any bigger than yours, or haven't you noticed you can't see your feet anymore?"

"I can see my feet just fine, and I'm still wearing the same pants size I did twenty years ago, which is something I know you can't claim." David crossed his arms and glared defiantly at Kendrick.

"The problem with you is you think 34 and 44 are the same size."

"I do not…oh, forget it! Trying to argue with you is like trying to build a mountain out of mud."

"And that's exactly what churns around in your head."

David rolled his eyes and smirked. Turning to Hutch, he said, "It is getting late. I think we should call it a day."

"I understand. Can we expect you back in the morning?" Hutch asked, hoping they'd agree. He was very interested in hearing more of the story, but wondered if David felt like continuing.

"Well, I haven't got anyone waiting for me," David began, "but Kendrick's wife was expecting him home tomorrow. We only made reservations for two nights."

David turned and stared at Kendrick. Hutch was amused to note the silent communication between the two of them, much like he and Starsky often did.

"I don't think she'd begin to miss me until I'd been gone at least a month," Kendrick remarked, with a crooked smile. "We'll have the hotel extend our reservation. I'll give her a call tonight and let her know."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Hutch said, "I'll tell Starsky, too. I'm sure he'll be glad that you're staying a little while longer."

"Tell him we said 'good night'," David said, extending his hand to shake Hutch's. "And we'll see you in the morning."

Hutch shook both of their hands warmly. Curiously, he asked, "By the way, what's your wife's name?"

"I call her Van, but it's Vanessa," Kendrick replied.

Hutch was left dumbfounded as the two men walked away.

* * *

David and Kendrick rode the elevator down to the garage level. Neither spoke, but each had known the other long enough to know the times when conversation wasn't all that necessary. When they got to the car, Kendrick paused on the driver's side until David reached the passenger side door.

"I thought you handled that very well," Kendrick said, digging in his brown corduroy jacket for the key to unlock the door.

"_Entschuldigung bitte_?"

Propping a hand on his hip, Kendrick chided, "You know what. I'm just telling you I know how hard it is to think about that time, and you shouldn't feel guilty about having to leave."

"I wasn't feeling guilty," David protested. "I just had to excuse myself for a minute."

Kendrick huffed loudly and opened his door. "Just letting you know I'm in your corner. _Das ist alles, kumpel,_" he muttered as he got in behind the wheel. He reached over and unlocked David's door. As his friend got in, Kendrick put the key in the ignition, but before he could start the car, he was stopped by a hand on his arm.

"There's something I've never told you," David began, his voice tense and shaky. "It's not something I'm proud of, but you deserve to know the truth."

Kendrick let go of the key and leaned back in his seat, waiting. When David didn't say anything, Kendrick placed a hand on his shoulder. "Whatever it is, it's not going to affect our friendship."

A slight smile appeared on David's face, then instantly went away. "I saw you that day…when you came to the ghetto."

"You saw me? Where?"

"When your car stopped at the market." David turned and looked out the windshield. "By then, we knew what the tour car looked like, and what the soldiers were there for…"

"I wasn't there for that, David. I know the others were—they were on leave, like me—but I wasn't there for amusement, to gawk at people dying on the streets."

Kendrick waited before saying anything else, wondering what David was thinking. The familiar face kept staring straight ahead, showing no emotion at all. Not sure whether he'd be believed or not, Kendrick continued.

"I was honestly hoping that, by some miracle, I'd see you and know you were alive. That's why I came, to try and find you." When there was still no response, Kendrick asked, "If you saw me, why didn't you get my attention?"

David's face tensed and his eyes narrowed. "Because all I could see was the uniform," he said. "And I _hated_ it."

Kendrick swallowed hard. The hardness in David's voice was something he hadn't heard in a long time, maybe, not ever. But the meaning of the last sentence was very clear. David wasn't saying he hated the German uniform, he was saying he hated _Kendrick_.

With his heart pounding frantically in his chest, Kendrick asked, "Was that when you'd lost Isaac?"

A change came over David, and a softer, but still guarded, look emerged.

"I heard a woman beside me say, '_M'hot zei in drerd di rotzchim_.'" His eyes locked on Kendrick, and seemed to ask for permission to continue. "It means, 'we shall yet live to see these murderers in their graves.'"

"And that's what you wished for?"

"I didn't know at the time…" David seemed to struggle with his inner emotions, "what you were going through."

"Well, I guess if the name fits…" Kendrick grabbed the steering wheel and leaned forward. He could feel his own demons rising up from the depths of the past.

"Kendrick, I—"

"No, just wait," he said, holding up a hand. "I need to know this." He shifted in his seat and turned to stare at David. "Did you…do you blame me for Isaac's death?"

David lowered his eyes, the sapphire blue hidden by half shut lids and thick lashes. "I know you didn't kill him…I mean, he died because…because of—"

"David, the truth. That's what you said I deserved."

Kendrick could sense the conflict going on inside his friend. Of all the things they had discussed about the war throughout the last three and a half decades, this one topic had remained untouched, and the most volatile. David had every right to mourn for his son and to lay blame on whomever or whatever he held responsible. But given the circumstances, Kendrick was never sure where he fit in the long line of those responsible.

"Yes. I hated you," David said, his voice getting tight again. "When I saw the looks on those soldiers' faces, it was like they were glad to see us dying like rats…taking pictures of starving kids and people with nothing but the rags on their backs." He hitched a breath, the past obviously replaying in front of him. "And you were right there with them, like you'd always been. Maybe not holding the camera, but not stopping them either."

A thick silence hung in the car, hovering over the two men like the aftermath from an explosion. Feeling like he was waiting for the smoke to clear, Kendrick sat quietly, wondering if David had anything more to say. He didn't have to wait long.

"I lost a big chunk of my heart when Isaac died. But I never had the _luxury_ of being able to grieve for him, to let all my hate and anger escape so I could start healing; because I knew, as bad as I felt, Hannah felt ten times worse." David paused as tears rolled down his cheeks. He wiped them off, and stared down at the wetness on the back of his hand. "She didn't say anything when we buried him," he continued with a gentler voice, "and days went by before she said even one word. As far as I know, she never returned to the grave. I did; once. We never spoke about him afterwards, but maybe we should have."

Kendrick reflected back to that day in the ghetto, when he was standing by the car and looking out over the square. He wondered what might have happened if they'd both seen each other after such a long separation. With David feeling so angry and betrayed, would their friendship had ended permanently, right then and there?

"I'm sorry you saw me," Kendrick admitted. "For what it's worth, some of us who were in that car talked to the _Hauptsturmführer_ when we got back, telling him how disturbed we were by what we had seen. He said several others had expressed the same complaint, and he would inform his superiors. Maybe it wasn't much, but we weren't all heartless bastards…"

He watched as David wiped a few more wet trails off his face, not knowing what else he could say to ease the man's pain.

"I never thought of you like that," David muttered softly. "One way or the other, you would've been pulled into the war. I just wanted to find whoever was responsible and beat them to death with my own hands." He took in a long, shaky breath and let it out. "But who was to blame? Even if I could've killed Hitler, it wouldn't have mattered, because a dozen others just like him would've sprung up and taken his place." David shifted in his seat, and eyed Kendrick. "It took a long time to realize that losing Isaac was one of those things I would never understand, or have an answer to. But when it came to almost losing you…that's when I knew you were a special part of me, too."

A sense of relief shot through Kendrick's heart. David had lost so much during the war, but hearing what his friend just said made Kendrick appreciate their friendship even more. "Maybe that's why we survived," he said. "Because one couldn't go without the other."

There was a glint of humor in David's answering smile.

"Did you really think it was my voice calling you out in the forest?"

Kendrick contemplated the question. "I'd like to believe it was. You and Willy sounded nothing alike."

"Yeah, well, by the way you've described him, we certainly didn't look alike, either."

"You're right. He was much more handsome."

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's note **- The character, Zalman Frydrych, mentioned below was real. He escaped from the Warsaw Ghetto to confirm rumors about the death camps and returned to try and warn the Jews of the fate that lay ahead of them. Frydrych also took part in the Ghetto Uprising and was killed just outside of Warsaw in May 1943.

.

Chapter 18

.

Starsky pushed the yellow mass of scrambled eggs around on his plate. Usually, breakfast was the one meal that even hospitals couldn't screw up, but this one certainly had. Deciding he could last until lunchtime, Starsky shoved the tray table away and glanced around his room in search of some distraction. His eyes eventually settled on the chest tube poking out from his side and running underneath the blanket.

"God, this sucks," he muttered and let out a long sigh.

Although Starsky had never told Hutch, the IV lines and tubes he'd get stuck with during 'visits' to the hospital always scared the crap out of him. He'd read too many stories of people ending up attached to pumps and machines forever. It was bad enough when he knew he'd be going in, but this last time had been the worst.

When he'd awakened in the hospital and reentered the real world, Starsky hadn't remembered right off what had earned him another trip. All he knew was there was a tube down his throat and he couldn't breathe right. A millisecond later, a colossal rip of pain had torn through his chest. He'd tried to crawl out of his body, but a woman dressed in white, wearing a little hat, appeared and held him down. The woman's twin came up beside her, holding a syringe. As she leaned forward, Starsky instinctively stiffened, but she only grabbed the IV taped to his arm. Instantly, the hurt lifted away like a sticker being peeled off its slick backing. His vision got blurry, along with his thought processes and he'd gratefully slipped back into a deep sleep.

The next time he awoke, he immediately saw Hutch's face and, thankfully, there was no hose crammed down his throat. Still, he had wires attached to him like some string-puppet and IV lines poking out from his arms. Particularly unnerving was the way everyone treated him like fragile glass. Starsky figured it took another day or so before he was lucid enough to understand what had happened. It was then that Hutch sat by his side and painstakingly told him everything about the shooting and the damage it had caused.

Now, he was confined to a bed and to an uncertain future as a cop.

Before he could sink deeper into depression, Hutch appeared in the doorway with that same, stupid grin he'd been wearing since Starsky had first spoken to him in ICU. Stupid or not, it was a good thing to see every day.

"Hey, partner, how's it going?" Hutch asked, eyeing the half-eaten plate of food by the bed.

"Don't start with the mothering act, okay? At least not until _you_ try some of that first," Starsky complained, nodding towards the tray table.

Hutch walked over to the bedside and inspected the mashed and mutilated contents on the plate.

"Well, looks like you drank your orange juice and ate maybe half of the toast, which, for a two year old, would've been pretty good."

"Hey, not today…alright?"

The stupid grin shrank to a tight smile. "Rough night?"

"You could call it that." Starsky lifted a corner of the blanket and exposed the chest tube. "Seemed like every time I tried to move, this damn hose bit me."

"It should be gone in another day or so." Hutch picked up a pillow from one of the chairs and tossed it onto an empty one. Taking a seat, he asked, "Your doctor make it by, yet?"

"Yeah," Starsky answered, unable to hide his disgust. "Brought in the boy scout troop again. Wouldn't have been so bad if there'd been a few girl scouts tagging along." He glanced up at the wall clock. "What time are David and Kendrick coming?"

Hutch suddenly looked dumbfounded. "I didn't think to ask them last night. I'm sure they'll be here pretty soon."

Starsky let his head sink into the pillow. For the first time since meeting this new relative, he wasn't sure if hearing David's story was the best thing for either of them.

"Hutch? Maybe this isn't such a good idea…"

"What are you talking about?"

"David talkin' about the war. I have a feeling losin' his kid wasn't the worst thing that happened to him."

Hutch lifted a hand and smoothed out his mustache. "You're probably right. Question is, is he talking because of you or because he needs to?"

"Why would he 'need to'?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Hutch replied, "It can be therapeutic, talking about a traumatic event. For some people, it makes it easier to deal with."

"But this wasn't just one event; and what about Kendrick? Man, he hasn't been walking through a rose garden either."

"Knock, knock," David called out.

Starsky turned to see him and Kendrick standing in the doorway.

"Hey guys, c'mon in," said Hutch.

The two men walked into the room. Starsky studied their faces, but neither looked as though they'd heard any of his and Hutch's conversation.

"You're looking much better, Starsky," David commented.

"Well, they say looks aren't everything," Starsky joked as he shot a quick glance at Hutch. Figuring it was now or never, he cleared his throat. "Uh, guys, Hutch and I were talkin' and we wanted you to know that…if it's too much, you don't…uh…"

"What my partner is trying to say," Hutch cut in, "is we'll understand if you don't feel comfortable talking about what happened to you during the war."

David looked at Kendrick, who gave a slight nod, and said, "I won't lie; a lot of what happened was terrible, both for me and Kendrick." He stuck his hands in his pant pockets and peered at Starsky. "But as hard as it is to talk about, at least I _am_ alive to do so. Millions…_millions_ of people never got that chance. And the only thing I find _uncomfortable,_ is that I can only speak for just a small handful."

A brief silence ensued, after which Starsky said, "Well, where were we, then?"

* * *

Spring 1942—Warsaw Ghetto

.

"_Blessed are You, Lord, our God, King of the Universe who brings forth bread from the earth. Amen_."

Sitting at the wooden table, David raised his head after Shlomo had given the blessing. Seated with him and Shlomo were Papa and Uncle Emir. The women were sitting on the couch. Tonight's meal was special, in a sense, because it was Shlomo and Anka's wedding anniversary. The food, watery soup and bread, wasn't much different from an average meal, but this time Malinka and Hannah had added a few extra turnips and an onion for the occasion.

"The soup is delicious!" Anka said, turning to look at the two. "You both did an excellent job!"

"Oh, Mother," Malinka blushed. "It's not like we prepared a gourmet meal."

"Well, it certainly tastes like one," Shlomo added. He tore off a piece of bread and dipped it in his bowl. "We are fortunate that we still have a roof over our heads and bread to offer a blessing for. So many didn't survive the winter; certainly one of the harshest I've ever seen."

"Yes, Shlomo, it was harsh," Uncle Emir piped up. "Especially when there was no heat and people were starving to death. But none of that ever seems to matter to our hosts. They still keep cramming people in here like there is no tomorrow." He stifled a little laugh. "You can really tell who the newcomers are…their faces are fat and their clothes have no holes—"

"Brother!" Jakob hushed. "We are celebrating a special occasion tonight, not talking politics."

Emir glanced sheepishly at Shlomo. "Jakob is right. Forgive my choice of topic, Herr Vilozny."

"No harm done," Shlomo replied. "We all know what is happening outside of our front door. But the blessed Yahweh is watching over his children. Our people have survived worse times; we will survive this, too."

All the men grunted an acknowledgement and went back to eating their meal. So far, David's family had been holding their own. Everyone, including Anka and Hannah, had found work of some sort, and with their combined incomes and food rations, they'd been able to keep themselves from starving. But it was still a day to day struggle, with no guarantees their good fortune would continue.

When Malinka began talking about the conditions at the hospital, David realized it was lucky none of them had gotten sick lately.

"Oh mother, it's getting so bad," she explained. "We can only admit those with contagious diseases now. Just today, we took in 150 people. All of our beds have at least two people in them, some even have three! The doctors are overwhelmed. I don't see how they can do it, day after day."

"Malinka, you know I worry about you working there," Anka remarked. "You need to be very careful, child. You could easily become sick as well."

"I'm being careful, but it's so hard to watch the patients die, especially the orphans."

"Well, if the Nazis have their way, we'll soon be calling those who've died here the lucky ones," Emir grunted, eating the rest of his soup.

"Brother!" Jakob growled. "Not again…"

"What?" Shlomo asked, looking at Uncle Emir. "Why do you say such a thing?"

David studied the faces of his uncle and father. He hadn't seen Papa look that angry in a long time.

"It's nothing," Jakob replied. "He just heard some rumors today, that's all."

"What rumors? Tell us," Anka insisted, resting her bowl on her lap.

"They're _not_ rumors," Emir declared, dropping his spoon on the table. "People have seen it with their own eyes!"

"Nonsense!" Jakob spat. "If what they claimed actually happened, then how are they still alive to tell it?"

"Because they escaped!" yelled Emir. "Why is it so hard for you to believe, Jakob? Look around you. Does this ghetto look like the promised land?"

"Quiet! Quiet!" Shlomo exclaimed before Jakob could answer. "I say we let Emir tell his story and then we can decide for ourselves."

Jakob looked at David and then over at the women on the couch. "It will only cause people to worry for nothing," he muttered.

"We can be the judge of that, too," Shlomo argued. "Go on, Emir; tell us what you have heard."

"There is another ghetto," he began, "In Lodz, very much like this one."

"Yes, yes, we know," Shlomo said. "Tell us what we _don't_ know."

"Alright," Emir griped. He laid his hands on the table and settled back in his chair. "A few months ago, tens of thousands of Jews from the ghetto and Pomerania, along with Gypsies from Bessarabia, were murdered by the Nazis. Men, women, even children. Three people escaped from that massacre, and have lived to tell us what is happening to the Polish Jews."

"Ten thousand?" Anka gasped, her eyes big and wide. She dropped her spoon and grabbed Malinka's arm. "And children?"

David glanced at Hannah, unsure at how she would react to this news. She stayed still and quiet, her attention glued to Emir like everyone else. But behind the soft-tinted eyes, David could read her feelings. They mimicked his. More innocent life had been ripped from their people, as if it were nothing of value.

"Yes, even children," Emir said in a low, angry voice. "They were told they were being taken for work and to bring their valuables along in hand luggage. When they arrived at a big house, a mansion, the Germans said they'd have to take a bath first, to disinfect them. So everyone was stripped naked and given towels and soap." Emir stopped. He uncharacteristically dipped his head and acted as if he couldn't go on. Taking a deep breath, he hesitantly continued. "Then they were led from the house in groups and put into the back of a big truck, with walls on all sides; sixty or more people crammed inside. Once the truck was full, the doors were closed and locked. The engine was started and they were all killed by the exhaust. The Germans had hooked up the tailpipe so the fumes would go into the back."

"Why would they kill them if they were supposed to be workers?" Anka asked incredulously, her face still frozen in shock.

"That was just a lie, to get them to go willingly," Emir answered. "What better way to slaughter thousands, than to lead them like docile sheep?"

"That's preposterous," grumbled Jakob. "It's no secret the Nazis want us to work as slaves, but to kill your work force? What sense does that make?"

"Who says the Germans have to make sense? You need to get your head out of the sand, brother."

"And what if this is true?" Jakob asked. "What are we to do? Rise against our captors and conquer them on empty stomachs?"

"Yes, Emir. Your brother makes a good point," challenged Anka. "We know how the Nazis respond to troublemakers. They wipe out an entire building because of one person."

"But don't you see? We are many here, hundreds of thousands, and they rule over us with a handful of soldiers," Emir fired back, opening his hand and then closing it in a fist. "David slew Goliath, did he not? We are God's chosen people; all we need is to have faith that we can overcome these devils!"

"And what if we are wrong? How do we know these killings were no more than misbehavior of victory-drunk troops?" admonished Shlomo, not sounding as if he even believed that himself. "We are civilized people living in modern times and yet you want us to believe that the Germans are orchestrating some diabolical plan to exterminate all the Jews?"

Uncle Emir let out a loud sigh, his shoulders and head dropping like he'd just lost the fight for his life.

"You can believe what you want to," Emir conceded. "But this is exactly how the Nazis will win." He stood and picked up his bowl. "But when you are standing naked in one of those trucks, I hope you will not be thinking 'how did this happen?'"

Uncle Emir set his dish by the sink and went to his bedroom. Shlomo and Anka exchanged nervous glances and slowly continued with their meals. Jakob and Malinka followed suit. Hannah looked down and after swallowing one last spoonful of soup, got up and went over to the kitchen counter. She started placing the dishes in the sink.

"Hannah," Malinka called out, "you washed the dishes last night. It's my turn tonight."

"Are you sure?" Hannah asked softly.

"Yes. Go and relax," Malinka said, leaving the couch to join her in the kitchen.

Hannah smiled appreciatively and went over to the front door, stopping briefly to grab her coat off of the metal stand. David got up from the table and, snatching his own jacket, followed her as she went out the door.

Once they were in the hallway, David called, "Hannah? Where are you going? It's almost time for curfew."

She continued walking until she reached the banister at the head of the stairs. Turning to face him, she said, "I just need some fresh air, David. I'll be alright."

David paused for a moment as Hannah started down the stairway. It had been almost nine months since they'd lost Isaac, but his death still felt as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. David had tried to put the incident behind him, but that was impossible. Each day, he observed the changes in Hannah's eyes and mannerisms, and wondered if the woman he'd married would ever return. Only on rare occasions could David even mention Isaac's name without Hannah immediately retreating into a somber mood, either unwilling, or unable, to talk to him.

Now, as she slowly disappeared from view, David couldn't let her go off on her own and hurried after her. Reaching the ground floor, he headed out into the night. In the dimly lit street, he could see the solitary figure walking slowly away. Within a few seconds, he'd caught up, then slowed his pace to match hers.

Glancing up at the clear sky, David said, "It's nice out here tonight. You can even see the stars."

"Yes, it is," Hannah answered, but kept her attention focused straight ahead.

"Hannah, I've been thinking…would you like to have another child?"

She stopped dead in her tracks. "You want another child?" she snapped, her eyes burning with anger.

Stunned by the reaction, David wasn't sure how to answer. "I didn't mean to upset you, it's just that…"

"What? So you can watch this one die, too? This time in the back of a truck?"

David felt the sting of her words all the way to his core, but maybe this is what Hannah and he needed, a way to vent their anguish.

"Of course I don't want that, Hannah. Who on earth would?" He reached out and took a firm hold of her arm. "I was there, remember? When Isaac died, I was there, too. Feeling my heart rip and wanting to die myself. But I couldn't let my feelings show; because as much as I hurt, I knew you were hurting more."

Hannah's head dipped, the anger fading in her eyes.

"I can't bear losing anyone else I love, David. Please, don't leave me," Hannah sobbed, reaching up to grasp his shoulders. "I couldn't live—not without you."

David gathered her into his arms. "I'm not going anywhere without you," he murmured as he buried his face in her hair. "Whatever happens, as long as we're together that's all that matters." David lifted his head and tucked hers under his chin. "I know losing Isaac was hard, but you can't let yourself die with him, Hannah."

She pulled back a little and stared at him with tear-filled eyes. "Please, David, don't leave me," she begged again.

He cupped the back of her head and settled it against his chest. "I won't, Hannah. I won't ever leave you."

His attention was suddenly drawn to the street by the sound of an approaching car. Instinctively, David pulled Hannah back and ducked into the dark shadow of an entryway. He watched apprehensively as an open convertible pulled up to an apartment house across the street and stopped. Several SS men got out of the vehicle and darted into the building. Anxious to put more distance between them, David grabbed Hannah and started to head back, making sure they stayed immersed in the darkness as much as possible. Just before reaching the safety of their building, David heard voices yelling in German.

He stopped and looked back to see what was happening. Two of the soldiers were dragging a man into the middle of the cobblestone street.

Gripping David's hand hard, Hannah said, "That's Otto Donawitz! He's a social worker for the _Judenrat_. What do the Nazis want with—"

A burst of gun fire erupted from the street and Otto fell bonelessly to the ground.

"C'mon!"

David shoved Hannah into the lobby and rushed up the stairs with her. They raced down the hall and into the illusive safety of their apartment.

* * *

Kendrick walked alongside Willy down a dirt road. The air was crisp, and the grassy fields on each side of them were a brilliant green. As they approached the outskirts of the Russian village, Kendrick steered them towards a crude bench by the side of an old storeroom. Sunlight was shining on the building's wall, promising a warm place to sit. Other men from their unit followed, and one by one, sat down in pairs or small groups amongst the tall birch trees and small buildings. They still had to travel eight more kilometers, to yet another village, but this break was long overdue.

Willy flung off his backpack and sat on the bench, legs stretched out wide in front of him. He dug for a cigarette somewhere inside his jacket. After pulling a crumpled pack out, Willy offered it to Kendrick.

"No, thanks," he said. Kendrick had smoked at least two or three since leaving the last village, but the tobacco had done little to clear his head today, something that he'd found interesting. Usually, smoking gave his mind a chance to escape into another realm or at least allow some warm air to enter his lungs instead of the frigid, biting air of the Russian winter landscape. But now that the weather had warmed, that wasn't necessary. Along with the increase in temperature, the ground had become softer and easier to dig, especially when a large grave was needed. Not that Kendrick or anyone else in his platoon had to worry about that; it was just a statement of fact.

"Aren't you going to sit down?" Willy asked. He raised a hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun. "You're making me tired just looking at you."

"Alright," Kendrick replied, "but if I can't get up again, you're going to have to carry me."

"That'll be a cold day in hell," Willy quipped.

Kendrick sat down on the bench and took his helmet off. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to comb the errant strands into place. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wooden planks.

"That kid was really something, huh?" Willy said abruptly. Kendrick glanced over at him. "I think it was Hans' shot that finally brought him down. Son of a bitch ran like a scared Cossack."

_Oh, yes, the 'kid_.'

"But, between you and me," Willy nudged him with an elbow, "I think we need more of those gas vans. It's much cleaner, _ja_?"

"Of course, much _cleaner_."

Kendrick closed his eyes again; this time hoping for a long, peaceful moment. He concentrated on the sweet smell of the grass and the rich aroma of the plowed fields around them. Spring had definitely arrived, a time of rebirth and of new beginnings. Color had once more overtaken the landscape, painting the barren and white winter canvas with radiant shades of green, yellow and red. Hopefully, the red would fade soon, replaced by cooler, deeper colors like purple and blue.

Yes, that would be much better—a world with no red.

* * *

Chapter 19

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_"We did not want to leave or most people in the Ghetto did not want to leave because you figured the misery you knew would be better than the misery you didn't know."_

_**Lucille Eichengreen **– Survivor of the Lodz Ghetto and Auschwitz_

_._

David stood in the living room, looking out the window at the street below. So far, he hadn't seen any German patrols, which was good, but until Hannah and the other women made it home, he'd continue to watch for them.

"How much more proof do you need, Jakob?"

David turned his mental focus to the heated conversation going on at the kitchen table. Papa, Shlomo and Uncle Emir were seated there. Lately, anytime the women were gone, the older men would argue over the latest rumors flooding the ghetto.

"Even the BBC is aware of it; 700,000 have already been killed in Poland! And your own son is a witness to what happened just two months ago!" Emir emphasized his point by hitting the wooden table with his fist. "Social workers pulled out of their homes and slaughtered like dogs out on the street!"

"That was only because the Nazis wanted to send a message," Jakob argued. "The _Judenrat_ should've known the Germans weren't going to tolerate all the illegal activities going on."

"And those executions were just a way to get the more vocal people out of the way," Emir said. "The Nazis want to sit back and watch us all meekly accept our fate, just like the Jews in Lublin and Bialystok."

"We don't know for sure if these exterminations are really happening," Shlomo added, adjusting his spectacles, "but I can tell you, if just a handful of us tries to do something about it, the Nazis will retaliate against the whole ghetto."

"Perhaps," Jakob said. "But even they wouldn't murder tens of thousands of people when Germany is in such short supply of manpower. It just doesn't make sense."

"Yes, we have jobs and we are established, but for how long?" pleaded Uncle Emir. "I've heard anyone who isn't working will be sent to labor camps—or worse. David could be one of those people, Jakob."

David glanced over at his father. Uncle Emir's words must have affected him because, for a long moment, Papa looked very lost.

"Well, we have been here over a year now. If they wanted to kill us so bad, why haven't they done it already?" Jakob reasoned, as he got up and joined David at the window. "I think the best thing we can do is wait, and do as we are told. America is fighting Germany now. Hitler may think he can conquer the world, but soon he'll be too busy hiding in bomb shelters to worry about the Jews."

"Knowing Hitler, he'll make a bomb shelter out of Jews," Shlomo replied. "Why die when you can have a Jew do it for you?"

David suppressed wanting to chuckle at Shlomo's stab at gallows' humor. Laughter had long since vanished in the ghetto, and now it seemed, only macabre jokes could elicit anything close to a smile. The sad thing was, Shlomo's statement wasn't far from the actual truth.

The front door suddenly flew open, getting everyone's attention. Malinka entered, followed by Anka, and both were out of breath. Just as David was about to ask about Hannah, she came in behind them.

"Malinka! Anka! What is it?" Shlomo anxiously asked.

"Papa, they arrested all the doctors at the hospital and sent them to Pawiak Prison!" Malinka cried out as she ran into her father's arms.

Shlomo cradled his daughter, looking to Anka for confirmation.

"It's true, my beloved," she said. "People are saying that the SS came to the Council building this morning, along with the _Umsiedlungsstab_, the Deportation Board. The rumors must be true; they're going to liquidate the ghetto."

"David, go down to the square. See if anyone has more news or if there are any notices posted." Jakob's voice was tense, but controlled.

David nodded at him and turned to his wife. "Come, Hannah," he said, nerves churning his belly into a pool of acid.

Hand in hand, David and Hannah left the apartment and started walking to the market. The air felt muggy, and the summer sun was shining relentlessly, baking the pavement all around them. Uncharacteristically, neither said anything, but given the circumstances, the silence wasn't that unusual. Talk of the Nazis emptying the ghetto had been going around for weeks. Normally, when everyone was together in the apartment, depressing conversation was avoided. But within the past few days, the overwhelming fear arising from these newest rumors was making it hard for David, or anyone else, to keep silent anymore.

Walking along the busy sidewalks, David studied the faces of people passing by. It could have been his imagination, but every single one looked tense and uneasy, no doubt mirroring his own face. The apprehensive expressions only caused a faster buildup of fear clenching in his gut.

Strange how he'd never felt this frightened before, considering all he and his family had been through since arriving here. While the brick walls of the ghetto had imprisoned them, it had also kept the people who hated Jews away, giving them their own place to live. He'd easily fallen into the mindset of day to day survival; keep working, keep living one more day, and before long, Germany would be defeated and everyone could go back to their own lives again. But now, what did this new development mean? Were they really going to be taken somewhere and shoved naked into a truck to be gassed to death? Or, were they headed to some vast labor camp, the location and living conditions as yet unknown?

Closer to the square, the crowds of people grew thicker. There was definitely a feeling of tension in the air. Conversations were heated and sparked here and there by panic-stricken voices. David held Hannah's hand tighter, not only let her know he was near, but also to squeeze out some assurance that she was there, ready to be his lifeline.

After what seemed like ages, they finally got to the front of the public notice board. There, in black and white, hung an official proclamation on a large wall poster.

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**Resettlement Order**

**The Judenrat is informed of the following:**

**All Jewish persons living in Warsaw, regardless of age and sex, will be resettled to the East.**

**Every Jew being resettled may take 15 kgs. of his property as baggage. All valuables such as gold, jewelry, money, etc., may be taken. Food is to be taken for three days.**

**The following are excluded from the resettlement:**

**Jews working for German institutions or companies**

**Jews working for the Judenrat**

**Jewish Hospital staff**

**Members of the Jewish Order Service**

**Wives and children of the above mentioned persons**

**Patients in Jewish Hospitals on the first day of the resettlement action**

**Assembly point is the Jewish Hospital at Stawki Street which must be emptied so that the building can be used for the people being resettled.**

**Punishments:**

**Any Jew who leaves the ghetto during the resettlement action will be shot.**

**Any Jew who acts against the resettlement will be shot.**

**Any Jew who does not belong to the above mentioned categories and who is discovered after the resettlement action will be shot.**

**The resettlement will begin at 11:00 o'clock on July 22, 1942. In the course of the resettlement the Judenrat will have the following tasks, for the precise execution of which the members of the Judenrat will answer with their lives. Six thousand souls have to be supplied by 4 o'clock today…**

David swallowed hard. He briefly skimmed over the rest of the announcement, his eyes at last falling on the final sentence.

**…and this (at least) is how it will be every day**.

Every day? He went back and reread the list of those who could be excluded. Only Shlomo and Malinka could qualify, but nobody else from their apartment.

"David, this is for today," Hannah noted, looking at the poster. "How are they going to find six thousand people in just a few hours?"

Not liking the possibilities that came to mind, David said, "We need to get work permits, and fast." He quickly led Hannah away to a less crowded spot. "What's the name of that German businessman, the one that runs the textile factory?"

"Toebbens, I think," Hannah answered. "But everyone will be going to places like that. What chance will we have?"

David sighed. Hannah was right; there were probably already hundreds if not thousands of people flocking to the ghetto's German employers. Before he could think of an alternative, a loud commotion in the market drew his attention. A middle-aged woman and younger man were fighting over a loaf of bread. Apparently, it was the last one the seller had to offer and both buyers felt they had a claim. In that single moment, David could see the future of the ghetto—survival of the fittest. Even though they were all one race here, the Nazis had succeeded in dividing them. Now it would be Jew against Jew—each trying to hang on to whatever 'life' he had left.

* * *

A week after the posting of the resettlement notice, David noticed conditions in the ghetto deteriorating rapidly. Rumors had grown by the hour as people ran scared, not knowing whether 'resettlement' meant being shipped to the East or death in a gas chamber. Food prices skyrocketed; the last remaining soup kitchens disappeared. While trying to hunt down productive work, David had heard that the chairman of the Jewish Council had committed suicide after refusing to sign an order that would've increased the daily quota of deportees to 9,000.

So far, the Nazis had satisfied their lust for numbers by emptying the refugee shelters, jails and children's homes. When a few thousand more were needed, they'd surround a block and take everyone out of the buildings, whether they had work permits or not, or gather up the beggars and starvelings off the streets. Ever resourceful, the Germans had recently introduced a new twist for compliance. Posters had gone up announcing that each person who voluntarily registered for resettlement would receive three kilograms of bread and one kilogram of marmalade. Apparently, the magnanimous offer had been found acceptable. According to a friend of Malinka's who worked down by the _Umschlagplatz_, so many hungry and starving Jews had come the first day that even two train transports could not accommodate them all.

This newest propaganda scheme had people questioning whether being deported from the ghetto was such a bad thing after all, and wondering if the rumors about the death camps were really true.

"_Why would the Nazis be giving bread away if they intended to murder the Jews?_"

Uncle Emir had laughed harshly in the face of the first person who'd offered that observation.

"Did you not hear of the pregnant woman who fell down while crossing the street and was shot before she could get back up?" he'd declared. "Or of the three orphaned children, sitting one behind the other in front of a hospital, killed with one bullet by an SS officer?" Emir believed the ghetto was being liquidated for only one reason, so the Jews could be taken to a place out of the public view and killed like helpless lambs. David was finding that opinion easier and easier to believe.

As more days went by, life for the two families become a game of watching and waiting. Which street would be blockaded today? What unlucky person would find himself suddenly grabbed and thrown into the column of deportees being marched to the trains? Rumors still persisted, spawned by those who refused to believe the Germans capable of such a hideous crime as mass murder—

"_No more than 50,000, 70,000 at the most, would be deported. Once the 'unproductive' were gone—prisoners, beggars, the sick and old people—the Action would be finished_."

For David, the truth of what was really happening became clear after talking to a member of the underground resistance movement, Zalman Frydrych. He'd been approached by the fighter at the market while the young man was looking for rations or money, anything to help support those who'd chosen to start fighting the Nazis.

"I've heard so many rumors," David said, looking around nervously. He knew at any moment, a lorry could drive up full of armed soldiers searching for people to deport. "But that's all they've been, just rumors. No one knows for sure where the transports are going, or what is happening to the people on them."

"I can tell you the truth, David, for I have seen it with my own eyes." Zalman's voice was steady, but his eyes were burning with fire. "I followed one of the transports, not more than a week ago. When I got outside of Sokolow, I found the tracks fork outside of town, with one branch leading to Treblinka. Workers on the railroad there told me every day they see a large train travel in that direction, loaded with people." The sound of a car horn beeping momentarily startled them both, but the sedan quickly continued on its way after maneuvering around a nearby crowd. "Anyway, they said it contained at least 60 cars! Then, when the train returns—it's empty. No transports of food are ever seen, just people, and no one is allowed to approach the station. Believe me; 'resettlement' is not for work, but death instead."

David switched his focus from Zalman and looked out over the market square. He knew what he was hearing was the truth, but it was still hard to believe. Ever since leaving Germany, he'd hoped that some day he and Papa and Hannah would return home and go on living their lives, meager as they were. But that wasn't going to happen. All the pain and sacrifice they'd endured up until now was for nothing!

"Why don't you join us?" Zalman asked, interrupting David's thoughts. "We could use good, strong, young men."

In his heart, David wanted to. He'd have a chance, at least, to avenge Isaac's death, and most likely, Michael's also. But he still had a wife and family that needed him, or more truthfully, that he needed. Armed with only a few pistols and hand grenades, David didn't think the small group of fighters had much chance of causing an army loaded with tanks and bombers any grief. No, he didn't want to sacrifice his life like that, but neither did he want to go meekly to his death with thousands of other stunned victims.

"I'll think about it," David answered, and quickly left before Zalman could say anymore. This latest news had his mind racing in all directions. At a crossroad, David had to see the one person whose opinion and advice truly mattered—Hannah.

* * *

Tucked away in a small cubbyhole in back of an apartment building, David and Hannah cuddled together. He'd found the spot months ago, and since then they'd come here often to be by themselves. The scraps of newspaper and cardboard left on the ground indicated others were probably using it, but right now, the little hideaway belonged to them. However, unlike before, this time they couldn't pretend the ghetto didn't exist, and that life as they'd known it would return. Tonight, they had to accept the ugly reality of death, and how to say that last goodbye.

"So," Hannah said after lying still and silent in David's arms for several minutes, "what if the worst happens? What if tomorrow it is our block's turn and we are marched down to the _Umschlag_? Shouldn't we take some kind of clothing, or silverware? Just in case?"

David briefly tightened his grip around her. "Just in case what? That we end up at a labor camp?" A nod of the head underneath his chin indicated her answer. "I suppose so," he said.

"You don't believe that though, do you?" she pressed, the sound of her voice echoing against his chest.

"No," he answered flatly. "I still remember Kristallnacht; the look of the man who pushed me down, and the men who beat that old Jew. I'd never seen hate like that before. The Nazis want us…" His voice trailed off. How could he really say what they wanted? For the Jews to die, or live as slaves?

One of Hannah's hands slipped out from under his grasp and rested on his forearm.

"It's okay, I understand," she said, using her fingers to rub little circles on his arm. "I've heard there are police who will let certain people avoid the transports. The price is high, but if it saves us from the camps…should we use the diamonds?"

David heaved in a big breath of air. "What about Papa, and Uncle Emir? Or the Viloznys? Could we stay and watch them go?"

Hannah shook her head decisively. "No, I couldn't. But Papa would want you to survive…" She leaned forward and turned around so she could see him. "And I would want that, too."

Stunned for a moment, David quickly gathered his thoughts. "Hannah, I swore I would never leave. Even if I had a choice, I couldn't live without you, don't you know that?"

"I thought the same thing…with Isaac." Her head dipped slightly, and tears began to flow freely from under thick lashes. "I didn't want to go on, David. I didn't. It hurt my heart so much." Slowly, she raised her head. "I had to believe that wherever he was, he was being loved and taken care of. I could've lost you, too, but you didn't let go. You were strong."

David wanted to stop her and tell her that she was wrong. She was the strong one; his rock solid foundation that had kept him from sinking into despair. Just a smile from her could help him survive anything.

"If death comes for me, I won't be afraid. I'll feel your love, David, even if I'm not here—"

"Hannah—"

"No," she said, placing a finger on his lips. "If there's ever a choice, you need to go on with your life."

"That's not going to happen—"

"David, we can't control this." Her hands cupped his chin. "I don't want our last moments to be spent not knowing what to do or say."

David stared into her eyes, but there was no fear or pain hiding behind them, only acceptance.

"You want me to try and say goodbye to you right now?" he asked shakily, knowing that was impossible.

"No, I don't need you to say anything," Hannah replied, sliding her hands down. She undid the first button on his shirt, then the second, and another. Placing a palm on his bare chest, she leaned forward and kissed him passionately on the lips. "Make love to me, David," she whispered.

David drew back a little. "I don't want to have you like some animal in a dirty pen," he said, scanning their cramped little nook.

"All I see is the man I love, not an animal."

David let his soul be drawn into her eyes and time quickly lost all meaning.

Their lovemaking went beyond sensual. Every care was pushed away as they concentrated only on their need to become one. Passions rose and fell as David found he could sense each change in Hannah's response, knowing when to kiss, and when it was right to fill her with as much of him as possible. Loving Hannah like this was unlike anything he'd experienced before. Stars appeared and danced in front of his eyes as the long awaited climax hit, making every muscle quiver.

Finally, as each lay spent and sated, nestled in each other's arms, David could only think of one thing.

"If I had to leave you forever, right now," he said, wiping a strand of hair from Hannah's forehead, "what would I hear you say?"

"Nothing," she answered quietly. "But your heart would hear mine saying, 'I love you.'"

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

Thanks everyone for your continued interest in the story!

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Chapter 20

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"_**A dead silence slinks – the moment just before the ultimate one…Mother steps away a bit, she is looking at me with concentration and love: 'Everybody has to die once' – she says – 'now we will die together. Don't be afraid, it will not be terrible'..."**_

"_All eyes have a wild, crazy, fearful look. People look pale, helpless, desperate...all the brittle hopes that 'maybe I may save myself and my dearest ones from total destruction'...collapse. The air becomes more and more stuffy, the place becomes more and more crowded, not because of the thousands of bodies and the odor of the rooms, but because of the sudden understanding that all is lost, that nothing can be done, that one must perish."_

_**Halina Birenbaum**__ and Marek Edelman__**—**_survivors of the Warsaw Ghetto

.

David felt his death grip on Hannah loosen. For the longest time, he'd been pressing her body against his, as if she were a dressing and he a gaping wound. They'd come within seconds of having the railcar door slammed shut between the two, separating them forever.

When the time came to board the train, the Nazis in the _Umschlagplatz_ had came at them full force, swinging clubs and rifle butts. In the maddening rush, it was impossible for David to hang on to Hannah and their bags at the same time, and for a long, terrifying moment, he'd lost sight of Papa and Uncle Emir. As they were pushed towards a railcar, David realized he'd have to get in first, then lift Hannah almost a meter to get her inside.

Just as he climbed into the opening, a rifle shot, followed by another, cut through the frightened crowd. From his higher vantage point, David saw a man next to Uncle Emir fall.

Emir turned. "You murderer! You fucking bastard!" he yelled in a voice loud enough to be hear over the many raised cries.

The Nazi pointed his rifle again, and before David could scream, another bullet hit its target.

David jumped from the railcar and forced his way through the frightened crowd, frantic. When he reached the bloody scene, Papa was leaning over Emir, yelling something in Yiddish over the fallen man.

David grabbed his father's arm and quickly pulled him away from his dead brother. He knew the soldier wouldn't have any sympathy for mourners. Jakob fought with every step, but David managed to get him over to the cattle car. A pair of hands reached down from the opening and helped both men get inside.

Wiping the sweat off of his forehead, David peered into the packed interior and called for Hannah, thinking she'd already gotten in. Horror struck when he heard her faint answer coming from outside. Craning his neck, he saw her waving at him from a small group still standing on the platform.

"Hannah!" David's voice caught in his throat. Trying to move quickly, he roughly shoved two men aside and pushed his way back to the open doorway.

Fearing if he jumped out again, he'd never get back in, David hung onto a handle and reached as far as he could to catch Hannah's arm. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a group of SS men closing the door on the railcar in front of theirs. In just a few moments, the soldiers would reach the car he was in. Miraculously, he grabbed Hannah's hand and, straining every muscle, lifted her just high enough that her knees hit the edge of the wooden floor. With barely a second to spare, he pulled her in all the way just as the heavy door slid shut and plunged the car into semi-darkness.

As the adrenaline diffused out of him, David opened his eyes and tried to make sense of his environment. Broken lines of sunlight filtered in through thin cracks along the wood paneled walls, but it was impossible to see more than just a few feet ahead in the murky interior. Two small window openings were cut out on each end; each no bigger than a serving tray. Crisscrossed with barbed wire and positioned close to the roof, they provided only a glimpse of the sky and little, if any, ventilation.

The air inside the boxcar hung hot and heavy, like an unwanted blanket. It reeked with the smell of sweaty bodies and old, stale urine. The train's motion rocked everyone back and forth and all around, but there was no need to hang onto anything for balance. People were packed so tightly together that it took a concerted effort just to move a few inches.

David pressed against the door behind him and managed to separate far enough from Hannah that he could look at her face to face.

"Are you okay?" he asked, since her legs must have been scraped on the floor's rough edge.

"I think so," she answered, shifting a little to the side. "Was someone shot? I saw you and Papa get in, but where's Uncle Emir?"

David wanted to tell her; should've told her, but couldn't. A wave of guilt came over him, yet he brushed it aside. Now wasn't the time to indulge in such feelings. He looked over Hannah's shoulder, trying to see where Papa might be in the horde of people packed around them. Not spotting him, he turned his head the other way. There, a few feet away, David caught a glimpse of his father's profile, surrounded by strangers.

"I see Papa," he said, turning back to Hannah. "Stay here, okay?"

She nodded weakly, perhaps sensing that he was stalling. David cut through the thick mass of bodies and pressed towards Jakob. He was leaning against the wall, eyes staring vacantly ahead, with a look on his face that David couldn't begin to describe.

"Papa?" he called, placing a hand on his father's shoulder. "Papa, it's me."

Jakob slowly turned his head, wet trails of tears on his cheeks. David didn't know what to say. Papa must have seen everything, including whatever caused the German to shoot his brother. Given how shocked he looked, David doubted Jakob would be able to tell him what happened. Whatever the reason, one fact was clear—the Nazis' lust for Jewish blood apparently knew no bounds. The Germans were now responsible for taking three of David's loved ones away, and judging by how things had been going, they were only getting started.

The last seven days had been like nothing David had ever experienced before. From the apartment window, he'd watched the roundups coming closer and closer to his home until the buildings across the street were raided. Old people, even a young boy, had been dragged from the assembled Jews and shot, the bodies left like garbage right where they fell. When the Nazis arrived at his building, all the inhabitants made it out alive, although few escaped the shoves and baton blows from their evictors. David was grateful that everyone got to the _Umschlagplatz_. However, his relief had been short-lived. Once the group from his building were hustled behind the brick walls that sealed this dreaded assembly spot from the rest of the ghetto, another mind-numbing ordeal started.

For three days, they were forced to wait outside in the hot sun, without food or water. At the end of each day, when David felt like he'd been fried to a dry crisp, the Nazis and _gendarmes_ kicked the entire group into an abandoned school at night, and locked the doors.

The floors were filthy, yet there was hardly any room to lie down. Packed together like canned sardines, David and the others sweated in the airless halls while rumors circulated of changes in their destination, or miraculous Nazi clemency. David listened to the stories, but the incessant growls from his stomach demanded more attention. To ease the gnawing hunger, he'd huddle close to Hannah, sometimes helping to cover her ears when she couldn't take hearing the pitiful cries of the babies and small children anymore. Late at night, when the little ones finally succumbed to exhaustion, their weeping was merely replaced by groaning from the adults.

Little by little, David felt himself growing more callous to the misery surrounding him. He'd watch placidly as people openly bribed the Jewish police, begging to be let back into the ghetto. Some who paid incredible amounts of money were allowed to return.

David could only shake his head, too tired and emotionally drained to feel either utter disgust or envy for these people. What use was it trying to get back to the ghetto anyhow? A place where a kilo of bread now sold for 50 _zlotys_, and the eventual certainty loomed of being picked up again?

Pushing away his thoughts of the last few days, David concentrated on his father. "What happened, Papa? Why did Uncle Emir yell at the Germans?"

A sparkle appeared in Jakob's eyes, but not the kind David had hoped for.

"Did you not see who was killed?" he exclaimed, gritting his teeth.

"No, Papa. Who?"

"Shlomo…it was Shlomo."

David's heart dropped. Shlomo had become like a second father to him and an extension of David's family. All through the nightmare at the _Umschlag_, the seven of them had stuck together, bolstering one another's spirits and trying to create hope out of bleakness. But the sadness over Shlomo's loss quickly turned into frustration. David didn't even know if Anka and Malinka had made it into the railcar; he'd been so busy concentrating on Hannah, then witnessing the shooting.

David stood on tiptoes and scanned through the mass of faces before him. Some were lit with narrow, horizontal lines of sunlight, making some features easy to see while hiding others. But as hard as he tried, he couldn't see either Anka or Malinka.

"I haven't seen them," Jakob said, catching David's arm. "I don't think they made it."

"Maybe they're in another car," David suggested, still scanning each head he could see.

"No…"

David barely heard the soft answer over the din of the train. One simple word, but the raw emotion hidden behind it was enormous: a reflection of his own feelings. David's heart ached for Papa, and hatred for the Nazis burned in his gut. His soul could only silently rejoice that he hadn't lost Hannah, at least, not yet. Despite still being with her, insufferable fear was slowly building up again. He was being taken to his death, to Treblinka. Everyone on board the train, other than the very young or naïve, surely realized that, too. A few hours ago, their sunken faces had shown nothing but misery and resignation. Now, every pair of eyes was wide open and terrified, staring intently at the confines of this traveling coffin.

Although the thought was hardly comforting, David knew he wouldn't be dying alone. He looked around and mentally counted the young adults, the ones who still appeared strong and capable of fighting. Would they be willing to kill a few of their captors? Honorably sacrifice their lives rather than be slaughtered like frightened sheep? And in doing so, show the Germans they were flesh and blood, worthy of living on the earth the same as any other human?

David let out a heavy sigh. There was no use trying to figure a way out of this. It was nothing but madness and when could madness ever be reasoned with? The Germans were the mighty conquerors, and the Jews their lowly slaves.

This time, David had no sling to use against the giant Goliath like his famous ancestor. He had to accept the inevitable, and the weight of that pushed down on him like an invisible force. But in the midst of his despair, a sudden but unexpected epiphany struck. The Nazis had imprisoned his body, taken away his freedom and held power over his destiny. But they couldn't control his thoughts: His mind, his beliefs and feelings, remained free—eternally secure in a place that no living being could ever touch.

He stared at Papa's face. Neither said anything, but as Jakob gazed back, David could think of all the things they should say to each other. How they'd missed and loved Mother; the hardships they'd endured; times that had been full of joy. For a second, David thought about Kendrick. Was he still alive or had he become a murderer of Jews?

Tired and beaten, David reached out and wrapped his arms firmly around Papa—a child searching for reassurance. He felt heavy tears begin to fall, drawing from a large reservoir of pain and heartbreak. So, this was what it felt like being on death's doorstep…fear of the unknown competing with the greatest love one had for another. No wonder he, or anyone else, could rise against their would be murderers. All living persons wanted to be together. People _had _to be together. It was the only comfort afforded to them, and the only way to deal with the horror.

After a long moment, David let go of his father, although a thin veil of denial kept him from uttering the last goodbye. Until the train came to a stop, and the doors thrown open, he still had the luxury of denying the inevitable. Wiping the wetness from his face, he gave Papa a long, last look. David wanted to stay, but there was another he had needed to be with. Forcing a smile, he reluctantly turned away and threaded his way back to Hannah.

"It was Uncle Emir, wasn't it?" she asked, her eyes full of sadness.

"Yes, he's dead."

With tears dropping from her eyes, Hannah looked around in the car. "I haven't seen Malinka, or Anka and Shlomo. Have you?"

David bowed his head. "Shlomo was also killed."

"_Mein Gott,"_ Hannah whispered, terror igniting on her face.

She nestled against him, and extended her arms to circle his neck. Anger fought with despair as he cupped her nape with one hand and grabbed the slim waist with the other. David wanted to fall on the floor, kicking and screaming like a three year old deprived of his toys. This wasn't fair! He and Hannah had done everything humanly possible to comply with their oppressors and be left alone. Given up their home, their possessions, their health…hell, even their first born. Wasn't that enough! Didn't they have a right to live, even as slaves? Was there nothing at all they were good for, other than to die?

David pulled Hannah's head tighter under his chin, and tried to gather his feelings. He had to be strong—for her, just as she'd been for him. He wished they could die together, holding each other like they were at this moment. Everything they'd become, friends, then lovers, and finally parents, all seemed so inconsequential now. David was grateful for each one, but regardless of its significance, great or small, this was as far as they would get. There would be no more tomorrows, no more firsts…no more future. Trying to cope with the oppressive heaviness that surrounded him both physically and within, David gazed blankly at the small rectangle of sunlight on the opposite wall.

Something wasn't right about the light.

If they were going to Treblinka, the sun would be shining on the right side of the train. But it wasn't. The rays were coming in from the left. They were traveling south, not north. Was this a reason to hope? Or were they merely being taken to a different place to die? Either way, he couldn't keep this to himself.

"Hannah, look. I want to show you something…"

* * *

Searing pain ripped through Kendrick's leg, instantly knocking him to the ground. A second earlier, Willy had also fallen. He was lying just a few feet away, curled up on his side, his face contorted in pain. The shots had come out of nowhere as they walked through the Russian town. Kendrick's squad immediately took cover and returned fire, hunkering in doorways and behind walls, filling the air with explosive blasts that threatened to overwhelm whoever had attacked them.

With the flame in his leg spreading to his hip, Kendrick focused on getting to Willy while he still could. He heard someone yelling, warning him not to move, but ignored the voice, even as more bullets kicked up the dirt beside him. Nothing mattered except the red spot on Willy's stomach, which was growing bigger by the second.

Just as Kendrick reached his wounded friend's side, a few men in his platoon ran past, hot on the heels of the retreating enemy. Kendrick yelled for a medic and placed a hand on Willy's shoulder. He could feel the taut muscles quivering beneath his palm.

"Hold on, Willy," Kendrick pleaded. He quickly tore open his friend's bloody shirt. "Help is coming."

Willy gave him a crooked smile. "I hope it's a beautiful fraulein holding a big beer stein," he mumbled, closing his eyes when a spasm hit.

Kendrick winced at the sight of the bullet wound. He grabbed Willy's hand and pressed it firmly over the profusely bleeding hole.

"Push down, hard," Kendrick said, failing miserably to keep his voice calm. He used his free hand to search for a first aid packet on his belt. The sound of more rifle fire and an exploding grenade drew his attention to a tall building just down the street. Their assailants were inside, continuing the assault on the troops down below. As a cloud of smoke cleared from the street, another fellow soldier lay on the ground, obviously in worse shape than either of them.

Willy raised his head, trying to look at his stomach. "How bad is it?" he asked, each word sounding shaky.

"Don't worry, it's not anywhere close to your dick," Kendrick replied, hoping to keep Willy's spirits up. "You'll be back humping the girls in no time."

"That's good," he answered wearily and dropped his head back down. "I was worried I wouldn't be on time for my date tonight."

Kendrick smiled. His amusement turned to terror as Willy's body convulsed and turned rigid. The young soldier let out a pitiful groan, then collapsed weakly. Blood was seeping from the wound, and Willy's face looked deathly pale. Before Kendrick could yell again for a medic, _Rottenfuhrer_ Karl Fredrich arrived with a medical pouch.

"Here, let me take a look," Karl said, removing Kendrick's hand from Willy's belly.

The medic carefully palpated around the abdomen, then slipped his hand underneath and felt along Willy's back. His movements remained calm but the frown on his face expressed concern as he opened the kit and pulled out rolls of gauze.

"How's the leg?" Karl asked, glancing at Kendrick's thigh.

Kendrick looked down at his own wound, surprised to see his entire pants leg was blood-soaked. "Doesn't hurt too much," he managed, hoping Karl would concentrate his efforts on Willy.

"Can you move your toes, or your foot?" pressed Karl, quickly sprinkling sulfa power over Willy's wound then packing it with a thick bandage. Willy flinched at the touch but his eyes remained closed.

Kendrick tried to get his toes to wiggle, but the best he could do was nudge his boot forward. His thigh protested fiercely, sending spikes of pain down his calf to his foot. Two more soldiers and a company medic ran up with a stretcher.

"This one needs to go, now," Karl ordered, nodding at Willy.

He finished wrapping a length of gauze around the young soldier's abdomen, then stood up and helped lift his patient onto the stretcher. Despite the rough handling, Willy didn't utter a sound.

While the others carried Willy away, Karl moved around to examine Kendrick's leg. Pulling out a pocket knife, he sliced open the ragged hole made by the bullet. Kendrick's stomach turned as he stared at the torn edges of skin and the multi-shades of red oozing from the wound's center.

Hearing heavy gunfire, Kendrick glanced back at the building where their attackers were barricaded. Suddenly, a loud blast shook the structure, followed by another. Clouds of grey smoke poured from the second-story windows along with frantic shouting and screaming. A few more rifle shots erupted and then an eerie silence filled the street.

"I'm going to put this tourniquet on," Karl stated, wrapping a strap of cloth around Kendrick's thigh and tying the ends to a wooden rod. "Keep this as tight as you can, only loosen it for a few seconds every couple of minutes. Understand?"

Kendrick gritted his teeth, bracing himself against the pain. "Am I going to lose my leg?" Kendrick forced himself to stare one last time at the ugly wound, wondering if it would be the last time he'd ever see his leg again.

"Just do what I say, okay? You'll be fine."

Kendrick grabbed hold of the dowel, the fate of his limb in his hands now. Pictures ran through his mind, of crutches and wheelchairs, and never being able to walk or run again. Which was exactly what he wanted to do. Run. As fast as he could; away from this hellish place and this mindless war, before it stole the last ounce of his sanity. God knows it had already taken enough.

_David. _

_Now, Willy_.

Was his ability to ever walk unaided be the next to go?

Suddenly, strong hands slipped under his arms and around his ankles and lifted him onto a canvas stretcher. Kendrick nearly bit through his lip. The movement sent rippling waves of pain through his whole body, nearly causing him to pass out. He loosened the tourniquet, but tightened it a second later when fresh pain cut deep into his leg. Closing his eyes, he surrendered to the throbbing ache as he was carried off towards the rear lines.

.

Chapter 21

.

David felt the train begin to slow down and braced against the wooden wall behind him. Heads immediately lifted as other passengers also noticed the change. Those fortunate to be near windows strained to look out of the small openings. David could hear the same questions he wanted to ask rise above the growing murmur of voices—_where are we? What do you see? _ He and Hannah tried turning every which way, seeking answers.

"A city, we're coming into a city!" a tall man with a thick beard cried out.

Hannah tugged on his arm. "Are we going to another ghetto?" she asked feebly. A wet sheen covered her face, making her look tired and ill. Being locked in the stifling car for hours had probably depleted what little strength she had. David wanted to give her something to eat, a soft bed to sleep in, someplace where they could be safe and comfortable. But he couldn't even provide her with a glass of water, and that inability tore at his heart.

"I don't know," David answered, shaking his head. Looking deeply into Hannah's eyes, he added, "Whatever happens, I won't let you go."

For the first time in three days, David saw a genuine smile on his wife's face.

"Lublin! We're in Lublin!" a man yelled out, one of several pressed near the window. "I grew up here."

"Why send us here?" Hannah asked, her smile fading away.

The car jerked clumsily as the train slowed down to a crawl. People standing near the walls searched for an opening large enough to see through. David found a small knot hole and squatted down so he could peek out.

"We're coming into a station," he said. There were several SS soldiers waiting on the platform, some who had dogs pulling at their leashes. "And they're expecting us."

With one last jolt, the train stopped. Inside the car, people shifted nervously. Their eyes, wide and fearful, stared up at the ceiling in terror, as if at any moment the roof would rip open. As much as David longed for the door to open and feel the welcome relief of fresh air, he wasn't ready to face the destiny that waited on the other side. What little time he had left was slipping through his fingers like sand in an hour glass, and no matter how hard he tried to hang on to these last precious moments, they were disappearing faster than he could bear.

Hannah's arm bumped him slightly as she struggled to put her coat on. She'd insisted on wearing it instead of packing the garment in one of their bags, which had turned out to be fortunate since David had lost their luggage in the mad rush to board the train. He helped Hannah with the coat, then took her hand and squeezed it tightly. Glancing over to catch Papa's eye, David wished he could reach out and hold onto him, too. Suddenly, the latch handle released with a loud clang and the door slid open.

"_Juden, raus_! _Raus_!"

The soldiers' loud screams and barking German Shepherds sent a new wave of panic through the passengers. Bright sunlight spilled into the railcar through the open door, lighting up dozens of frightened faces. The people standing nearest to the doorway were hastily pulled out onto the platform, and then beaten with clubs as soon as they hit the ground. Many Jews stumbled and fell, but quickly jumped to their feet again when the dogs lunged, snapping with sharp teeth at the nearest limbs.

"_Schnell, schnell_! _Here, form ranks of fives_! _Now, you filthy pigs_!"

David managed to hold onto Hannah as they got off the train, despite being almost knocked down by the wave of terrified passengers surging behind them. Once they got on the platform, he frantically glanced around for his father. Relief flooded in when he spotted Jakob following just a few feet away.

It didn't take long to get everyone out of the railcars. The frightened and exhausted passengers formed into neat rows on the wooden platform. Standing beside Hannah, David eyed the barking and growling dogs, the saliva dripping profusely from their white fangs.

"Listen, _Juden_!" an immaculately dressed German officer barked in Polish. He walked past the front of David's group and took his place on a raised podium near the tail end of the station. The golden shoulder epaulets and silver SS pins on the man's collar sparkled as they caught the sunlight, contrasting dramatically with his black wool uniform. "Those of you fit for work will be going to a _Konzentrationlager_ a short distance away," the German continued. "If you work very hard, you will be allowed to live. Anyone who feels they cannot do this, step forward now and we will make other arrangements."

No one in the large crowd moved. Other than the intermittent yelping of the dogs, the station was deathly quiet. A baby started to cry, its weakened voice still strong enough to be heard a railcar's length away. David watched with apprehension as its mother stepped forward from her group, holding the infant in her arms.

"Please, sir," the woman begged as she approached the officer. "I can work, but will there be someone that can care for my child?"

A disturbing smile appeared on the German's face. He stepped off the podium and approached the young woman. Without uttering a word, he ripped the baby from her and grabbed its ankles with one hand. With one smooth movement, he arched his arm back and slammed the tiny infant down on the cement.

David could've sworn every passenger flinched the moment the baby's head hit with a sickening thud. Hannah gasped and buried her head into his chest.

The mother stood like a statue; a look of absolute horror on her face. Just as she raised her hands to her mouth, the officer pulled his revolver from its holster and fired one shot into her chest. She dropped dead instantly, right beside her child.

Appearing satisfied, the Nazi casually reholstered his pistol. "Is there anyone else who wishes to come forward?" he asked smugly.

David swallowed hard, trying to keep the nausea churning in his stomach from coming up. Fresh memories of losing Isaac enveloped him, and he wanted to lash out at the murderer standing in front of him. But David couldn't let his agony escape. He had to be strong for Hannah. Feeling her shiver in his arms, David could easily imagine Hannah as the stricken mother, and paying the same price. Keeping a tight grip on his wife, he glanced at a nearby woman holding a toddler. She had the child pressed tightly against her chest, her eyes burning with fear.

The officer approached the group standing next to David's, accompanied by several SS soldiers. Starting with the front row, he began selecting people, lazily pointing to some and ignoring others. The ones he chose were sent to the center of the platform, while the rest were ordered back into the railcar. When the officer didn't point to the mother with the toddler, she sobbed quietly and shuffled towards the train, clutching her son.

As the German worked his way through the lines of Jews, families who were forcibly separated began to weep openly, some clinging desperately to one another. An armed soldier cut in between an embracing couple, showing no empathy or compassion as he used his rifle butt to separate them. Women cried out for their sons as the deliberate violence continued. Hannah raised her head and looked longingly at David. He tried to give a reassuring smile, but indescribable fear lurked in his mind. How long would his own family remain together?

The sound of Jakob muttering a prayer momentarily drew David's thoughts away from the anguished cries. For a moment, David felt ashamed that he couldn't do the same. But God wasn't here, certainly not on this train platform, so what good would it do to pray? Instead, he firmly took hold of Hannah's shoulders and lowered his lips to her ear.

"Whatever happens," he whispered, "I…"

"No talking!" The Nazi officer was now standing right in front of them. David stared at the man's face, into cold, dark eyes. There was so much hate and disgust in his gaze, yet David found it hard to turn away from the monster who was about to decide his fate.

"You…over there."

With a quick swipe of his finger, the officer pointed to David, then Hannah. Grabbing her hand, David quickly moved towards the small, but growing group of Jews who had also been selected. He anxiously looked back to see if Papa would be picked also. His pounding heart skipped a beat as the officer seemed to pause for a long moment, then resumed a steady pulse when Jakob walked over to them.

As the Nazi stepped up to the next group to continue his pitiless selection, David noticed that only the last five railcars had been unloaded. The other boxcars sat with their doors still closed. Which of the train's passengers would be the fortunate ones? The ones left in the locked cars or the ones destined for the concentration camp standing with David in the hot sun? He tiredly shifted from one foot to the other, feeling what was left of his energy drain with every passing second.

Several minutes later, the officer finished dividing the last group, leaving about a dozen on the platform and sending the rest back onto the train. The soldiers used their clubs to beat the last of the stragglers into the boxcars, yelling obscenities in both Polish and German. They shoved the doors closed with a resounding clash and locked the Jews in. Heart-wrenching screams emerged from inside, accompanied by the sound of fists beating against the thick wooden doors.

"_Momma! Papa!_" a woman screamed in panic, another holding her back so that she didn't fall onto the tracks.

The displaced families left standing on the platform began to tear at their hair and clothing, clearly distraught.

"Oh, David…" Hannah moaned. "How can they?"

The officer and his contingent of soldiers moved down to the next five cars on the track. Once the boxcars were surrounded by the SS troops, the doors were opened and the same selection process was repeated.

Not wanting to witness more of the heartless process, David glanced around at the soldiers guarding them. For a moment, he envisioned Kendrick's face among them. Would he have struck an old woman and shoved her forcibly into a stinking railcar? Separated David and Hannah as they struggled to give each other a final kiss goodbye? Washing those thoughts away, David stared at the dead mother and child on the platform. It was hard not to picture Hannah and Isaac lying in the same spot, eerily frozen in contorted death poses.

David's head pounded as the murder of these two innocent lives kept replaying in his mind. His own son's death was still too fresh. Isaac had also been slaughtered, perhaps not as dramatically as the dead infant lying just a few feet away, but just the same. Shifting his focus, David studied his fellow Jews to get his mind off the horrible memories. The people standing here on the platform meant nothing to these soulless Nazis—Jews were simply pawns to push around and abuse as the Germans pleased. Hearing a particularly anguished scream rise from the crowd down the track, David let out a long sigh. Until the entire train had been gone through, there was nothing to do but listen to the heart wrenching cries echo through the station.

Hannah ended his depressing musings by anxiously tugging on his arm.

"Look! There's Malinka!" she gasped.

David raised his head and saw the teenager snaking toward them through the corralled passengers. She and Hannah collided, each holding and squeezing the other as if a gale wind was ready to strike. Soon, Malinka's head rose. Tears poured out of her eyes and down flushed cheeks.

"Have you seen Mother or Papa?" she asked, choking back a sob. "I got separated from them on the ramp in Warsaw."

David couldn't help but glance at Papa. He didn't want to be the one to tell her what they already knew. Thankfully, Jakob spoke first.

"Malinka, your father and my brother…they are dead, killed by the Nazis."

She stared incredulously at Jakob, her expression wavering between absolute horror and utter disbelief. David saw the instant her heart broke. Her face crumpled, and tears gushed harder than before. "Papa is dead?" she gasped. "And Emir, too?"

Jakob nodded sadly.

"But what about Mother? Where is she?" Her legs wobbled and she swayed.

Hannah pulled Malinka into her arms. "We haven't seen her, not yet," she said, drawing the crying girl closer.

Her anguish brought David to the edge of tears. Perhaps it had been a blessing that Malinka had been separated from her father, and didn't have to witness his murder. If Jakob had been killed by the soldier's bullet instead, David couldn't be sure how he would've reacted. In all likelihood, he'd have been shot as well, trying to avenge Papa's death.

Looking at a nearby soldier, David found it hard to control the hate building inside of him. He hoped he wouldn't regret not joining the ghetto's resistance movement. At least they would die fighting the Nazis, something David certainly couldn't imagine doing in his present situation.

* * *

Kendrick squinted, trying to shield his eyes from the glaring sun overhead. His whole body was tightly encased in a canvas stretcher, which made him feel like an Egyptian mummy. The two soldiers carrying him didn't seem too concerned about avoiding the dips and turns in their path, and now all Kendrick prayed for was that they wouldn't accidently trip and send his aching body tumbling to the ground.

His hand was numb, but he still maintained his death grip on the twisted knot of fabric strangling his thigh. He'd been loosening the tourniquet less and less as time and fatigue chopped away at his dwindling stamina. With each untying, the throbbing burn from refilling blood vessels clawed ever deeper into his wounded limb.

Kendrick was brought into a large tent and placed roughly on an exam table. A doctor appeared; his white smock and apron grayed from overuse and stained with splotches of dried blood. He bent over the stretcher and, with unexpected gentleness, loosened Kendrick's hold on the tightened strap.

Stinging tendrils of pain shot through Kendrick's leg and he whimpered.

"Ah, that's a good sign," the doctor murmured to himself while he pinched each toe on Kendrick's foot. He patted Kendrick's shoulder. "Don't worry, you'll be in the operating room soon."

He retightened the tourniquet and dug into a front pocket, taking out a short length of elastic band. As he tied it around Kendrick's upper arm, a nurse came into view holding a glass bottle filled with clear liquid and a long tube dangling from the neck. She flashed Kendrick a hurried smile, but the gesture did little to ease his worries. The doctor grasped the needle attached to the tube's free end, and positioned it on Kendrick's forearm.

Kendrick felt a quick sting as the sharp tip entered the crease of his elbow. The rubber strap was snapped off. The nurse hung the bottle from a metal pole while the doctor taped the inserted needle down on Kendrick's forearm. Once he was done, both doctor and nurse left, leaving Kendrick on his own.

He tried to glance around the room, hoping to spot Willy lying somewhere close by. All he saw was a few other beds occupied by wounded soldiers, none of whom had his friend's spiky cropped hair. Willy had to have been brought here. This was the only front line hospital anywhere near them. Was Willy being operated on? _He'd lost so much blood— _

They'd become very close during the past year. Kendrick could recall times when he would have lost his mind completely if Willy had not been by his side. They had witnessed savagery that no one should ever have to see, from both their own troops and the enemy's. Willy's eternally upbeat nature and sense of humor had helped Kendrick through many tough moments, and he'd almost filled the void left by David's absence. Almost, but not completely. Willy was a good friend, but he and David were not the same people.

_But where was David? Was he even still alive? _

Kendrick thought about his childhood friend every day. However, sometimes he would feel a cold touch on his heart, like a deadly foreshadowing. Fear would arise that David was being viciously persecuted; or worse, had been shot and killed. These dreadful feelings would last for hours, sometimes even days. Eventually, Kendrick would talk himself into believing that David was fine—that he had somehow escaped Hitler's cruel persecution. To sooth his troubled mind, Kendrick dreamed of a future reunion where they would both meet again as if neither had been separated. Anticipation of such a day kept him from sinking into a bottomless pit. But that hope was dwindling as time passed. Kendrick couldn't keep pretending in make-believe when he knew firsthand what was happening to the European Jews.

"Well, soldier, ready to have that bullet taken out of your leg?"

The doctor's voice shook Kendrick out of his musings. He nodded warily, swallowing his fear. He'd never been in a hospital before, much less one set up in a canvas tent in the middle of nowhere. Two orderlies arrived and lifted him off of the exam table onto a metal stretcher. The uneven ground rattled his body as he was wheeled into another room divided by long, hanging sheets substituting as walls. He was positioned under two large lamps that shone a bright light down near his belly. Another doctor and nurse stood beside him, dressed in surgical garb.

Left with no other choice than to trust in the medic's abilities, Kendrick forced his fears aside and listened as the nurse told him to breathe deeply. What looked like a metal strainer was placed over his mouth and nose, and within seconds, the pungent smell of the ether hit his senses. As the irritating odor began working down through his lungs, Kendrick finally succumbed and fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

For nearly one and a half kilometers, David and Hannah walked with their fellow Jews through the outskirts of Lublin. David kept his head down, trying not to look at the faces of the Polish pedestrians who watched the beleaguered columns silently march along the streets, guarded by Nazi soldiers. David felt like some condemned prisoner, on his way to the gallows, and he didn't expect any sympathetic stares.

Malinka kept pace beside them, her face blank, no doubt pre-occupied by thoughts of Anka and Shlomo. Papa walked in front, his silence clearly understandable.

Hearing a few mumblings, David lifted his head and noticed they were approaching what appeared to be a massive camp set on a low, rolling hill just outside of the city. Row upon row of one story wooden barracks, resembling long stables, were lined up on the grassy terrain. There had to be hundreds of these buildings, which made the camp look more like some gigantic horse ranch than a prison. Along the periphery, guard towers loomed, poking out of the flattened landscape just like the sparse trees which dotted the bleak scenery. In the distance, one odd building stuck out from the rest. Set on top of a small hill, its massive brick chimney reached high into the sky, puffs of grayish-black smoke spilling lazily out of the top.

As they neared the camp entrance, David saw several groups of prisoners digging with shovels inside the complex. Some of the prisoners wore blue and grey striped pants and shirts with matching caps, while others were dressed in ragged civilian clothes. None of the prisoners looked up from their labor to study the new arrivals. They kept their heads down and focused on their work. Nearby, several SS guards armed with rifles and canines stood watch. Every so often, one would strike a prisoner on the back with a short club, forcing the poor recipient to move a little faster.

"I wonder where the women are," Hannah asked, pressing against David's side.

David was glad he didn't see any, but the depressing scene did make him wonder what the women in this camp were forced to do. He gripped his wife's hand firmly, afraid to think of what lay ahead for them. For now, he was still together with her, and that's what mattered.

Jakob glanced back at them without speaking. Always a father, he pressed a comforting hand into Malinka's back.

The large group turned off of the main road and entered the camp between a pair of matching sentry kiosks painted with black and white chevron stripes. Two soldiers stood guard, watching indifferently as the Jews marched by. David shuddered when he and Hannah passed through a wide gate and entered a large fenced area cordoned off by dozens of lines of barbed wire strung loosely from one high wooden post to another. They were officially prisoners now, condemned to a concentration camp.

"Stand over here!" one of the soldiers ordered, shoving a few stragglers from the group into place.

Malinka uttered a sob, and stepped closer to Hannah. Jakob scanned the area, studying the watch towers which dotted the dusty parade grounds around them. David followed his gaze. The barrels of the guards' rifles weren't hard to miss as they poked out through the windows of each structure.

Surrounded by several SS men, the Jews were roughly divided into three groups. David and his family were placed in the first group and herded to a large barrack with the number 44 nailed over the entrance.

"Son, let's stay towards the back," suggested Jakob. "Whatever awaits us inside can't be good."

Nodding in agreement, David and the women hung back and made sure they were among the last to enter.

The bleak interior had no dividing walls or ceiling, and the bare support framing and trusses made the building resemble some bizarre skeleton. Rough hewn pine boards lined the floor, worn near the center, no doubt from the hundreds of people who had already passed through here.

"Everyone! Off with all your clothes! Throw your bags here!" a blond haired, blue eyed German soldier ordered.

Disregarding the few faint protests, the soldiers began moving through the crowded room, repeating the orders with cusses and threats. It didn't seem to matter to them that men and women had to undress in front of each other.

"Hannah, listen to me," David urged, getting her attention. "You still have your diamond, don't you?"

She lowered her head and dug in the front waistband of her skirt. With two fingers, she removed a tiny bundle of cloth and held it for him to see. David took a quick glance around to see if they were being watched, then reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a similar wad.

Opening it, he said, "I want you to swallow these. Tomorrow, wherever you're at, try to go somewhere on the ground." David looked empathetically at Hannah's appalled face. "I know it won't be pleasant, but it's the only way to keep these out of the Nazis' hands."

"Are you sure you want me to have both of them?" Hannah asked, uncovering the small jewel.

"Yes," he said, afraid of taking too long to consider which option would benefit them the most. He dug his diamond out and pressed it into Hannah's hand.

She immediately popped the gems into her mouth and took a hard swallow. She looked over at Malinka. Both women shot worried glances around the room, obviously not comfortable with taking their clothes off surrounded by so many men.

"Here, stand close to me," David offered, knowing it wasn't much. German guards kept pacing around the trapped Jews, striking out at anyone who wasn't shedding their garments. Not wanting to be beaten, David began to remove his clothes. Jakob was undressing slowly, his face red with embarrassment. David could only feel slightly relieved that Hannah and Malinka were together, and could focus on themselves.

All too soon, a Nazi officer yelled out the next order. "_Juden!_ Men to the right, women to the left. _Schnell_!"

David's heart sank. This was the moment he'd been dreading. He fixed his eyes on Hannah, desperate for time to stand still. Her arms were folded over her breasts and her legs locked tightly together, but he sought her face and the look radiating from her deep brown eyes.

They'd known this moment would come, and unfortunately, there had never been a way to completely prepare for its dreaded arrival. For an instant, everything around David faded from his consciousness as he remembered what they'd said to one another in the ghetto cubbyhole. _Was this going to be their last farewell? Would they ever see each other again? _

Suddenly, a club wedged in between them, and Hannah and Malinka were roughly shoved towards a line of other women. Hanging onto Malinka, Hannah fought for one last look at David; her mouth was open, but saying nothing; her eyes, wide and fearful, saying everything.

"Oh, my love," David whispered as he was pushed hard against Jakob. Unable to see Hannah anymore through the mass of naked bodies in between them, David closed his eyes and listened to his heart. Tears welled and spilled down his cheeks.

_Oh, God, he could hear her—telling him goodbye._

Amidst shouting and random strikes from whips and clubs, the naked men were rushed outside to another building, without even a moment to grieve being separated from their loved ones. Once inside, they were lined up, and one after another, made to stand on small stools while other prisoners shaved them head to toe with razors.

When his turn came, David winced and bit his lips to keep from crying out when the dull blade ran across his groin. As numb as he was over being separated from Hannah, it was not enough to prevent feeling the hot pricks as more hair was ripped out than cut. Before he could grab it himself, his barber took a firm hold of his penis and carelessly trimmed around the base and balls. He looked bored, as if he'd performed the chore a hundred times before.

After making sure his manhood was still intact, David sat on the stool and the barber started shaving his head. David watched helplessly as handfuls of curly hair fell from his head and tumbled down his naked body to the floor. When the barbaric work was done, he turned sideways, to see if Papa was still on the stool beside him.

If David hadn't known better, he would've never recognized his own father. The look in Papa's eyes told him Jakob was having the same reaction—stunned at the sight of his own son nearly hairless. Although not completely bald, Jakob looked as though a mischievous child had taken out some sort of devious revenge, leaving patches of shorn hair on an otherwise shaved head.

Before David could even begin to think of a reason for this hideous treatment, he and Jakob were shooed off so other victims could take their place. They were rushed into a neighboring room that contained large, concrete tubs filled with an antiseptic-smelling solution.

"_For disinfection_," they were told.

After lining up in pairs, each man quickly went through the process. David climbed over the tub's rim and slipped into the deep vat. Searing pain immediately fired up around his penis, and then his chest and armpits, as the iodine came in contact with the raw, shaved skin. Before he could suck in a breath of air, a booted foot came down on his head and forced him underneath the foul water's surface.

David began to panic. His lungs were craving air, and his face was burning from the metallic solution clawing into any orifice it could find. Using his last drop of energy, David thrust his arms upward and tried to shove the heavy foot off his head. When the weight lifted, he came up gasping for air. The euphoric sensation he felt from breathing again almost overcame the fear of the near drowning. Ignoring the heartless chuckling from the soldiers, David crawled out of the tub, shaking so badly he could barely stand.

Finally free from the vat, David thought he would stop trembling, but the cool air only seemed to intensify the burning sting in his groin and all around his head. A hand landed on his arm and David instinctively jerked. But it was Jakob's.

"Come here, my son."

Papa opened his arms in an inviting gesture. Naked, like David, he had nothing to offer to ease his son's pain, except love. David folded into the embrace, unaware and unconcerned about what either Jew or Gentile thought at that moment.

All the prisoners were forced to wait quietly until everyone was finished being disinfected. David had never seen so many naked men crowded together in one place before. With the pain from the iodine finally gone, he felt on edge. What other humiliations would they have to endure? The officer had said this was a concentration camp, but who could believe these monsters? Why were they being prepared like this? Why disinfect them? He shivered. Being naked striped away any form of defense. He felt helpless and completely vulnerable to anything his captors wanted to do. And there was no question why the Nazis wanted to degrade them like this. They wanted to make sure there'd be no question who was master in this camp.

When the last pair of men emerged from the disinfection tub, the group was herded into another room. Although there were hardly any windows, David could tell the place was enormous. A metal grid of water pipes hung from the ceiling, with a few dozen shower heads spaced out uniformly along them. Fears of lethal gas pouring out of the fixtures tugged at David's mind, but logic told him even the Germans wouldn't drag such a charade on for this long. David stood under one of the shower heads and stared up at the perforated cover, praying that clean water would come out. His mouth was parched and he was so unbearably thirsty. He just wanted something to drink, even if it tasted no better than the sooty water from the ghetto.

The metal piping gave a couple of loud knocks. A short blast of air came out, triggering David's heart to skip a beat, but tepid water quickly followed. David rinsed off his face first, then opened his mouth and greedily swallowed the welcome liquid. Instantly, the water temperature spiked, and David jumped back trying to avoid the hot spray. But with the room crowded and packed with so many bodies, there wasn't any place to move. Mournful cries flooded the steamy air. Just as quickly, cold water began to shoot out. As the water temperature arbitrarily went back and forth, David bore the changes with a grim patience. He pretended the Germans' laughter didn't bother him and tried his best to clean age-old dirt from his body. Despite only being able to stay under the spray for just a few moments, David couldn't even remember the last time he'd bathed with this much water.

Once the showers were shut off, the men stood still, dripping wet, until ordered to move into another room. They were marched past several tables loaded with prison uniforms, the same outfits David had seen on the men working in the compound. Each man was given a long-sleeved shirt, underpants, jacket, trousers and a cap. The clothing barely passed as rags, and very few happened to get sizes that fit. Luckily, all David's pieces were the right size, but Jakob was less fortunate. He had to roll up the ends of his extra long pants to keep from tripping on them. They were all given wooden clogs for shoes. Only a lucky few got leather shoes with wooden soles.

David wasn't sure if this unusual footwear was a good thing or bad until Papa offered an explanation.

"You can't run in these shoes," he said in a low tone. "Makes it harder to try and escape."

"_Juden pigs!_ Attention!"

A fat Nazi officer with a slight limp sauntered into the room accompanied by another man. He stopped and stood in front of the prisoners, his stomach so large it hung over his belt. Despite his physique, his immaculate grey-colored SS uniform fit him perfectly, from the sharp pleats and pockets on his jacket to the straight crease of his pant legs. His black leather boots glistened brightly and matched the black visor on his cap. A man who was obviously a prisoner stood behind the officer, but unlike David's clothing, this man's uniform was clean and new. He wore brown leather boots and his pants weren't striped, only his shirt. Around his upper left arm was a black band with the word 'Kapo' stitched in large white letters. Hanging down from his right hand was a thick leather whip.

"I am _Obersturmfuhrer_ Erhardt," the officer said, his double chin jiggling as he spoke. Nodding to his left, he said, "And this is block leader Martz. You are now prisoners in the Majdanek _Konzentrationlager_. If you want to live, then you must work hard, every day. Misconduct or laziness will not be tolerated. Anyone who does not obey will be shot immediately." He paused and glanced around the roomful of men, as if daring someone to challenge his authority. When no one spoke, he grunted disgustedly and murmured something to Martz. Erhardt then pivoted on one foot and marched quickly out of the building.

"All right you dogs! Form two lines and follow me. No talking!" Martz ordered. Several men immediately shuffled into position behind him, walking awkwardly with their new footwear.

David glanced at Jakob and they both did as the Kapo ordered. Nearby, a few older men stood looking confused, as if they didn't understand. Before they drew unwanted attention from their new leader, David whispered an explanation in Yiddish to the nearest one, hoping he would understand.

Giving a grateful nod, the thin-framed man hastily repeated the message to his comrades. Unfortunately, Martz heard them talking and descended onto the hapless victims like a madman, striking out with his whip until everyone had complied with his instruction.

David stood at attention, warily watching Martz. Here, it seemed, only German was spoken, especially by their rulers. David realized this gave him an advantage that many other prisoners lacked.

He'd just learned the first lesson of survival in a concentration camp.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

Thanks for reading everyone! As always, comments and feedback are always appreciated.

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Chapter 22

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Amid another round of screaming and rifle blows from their German guards, David and the rest of the ghetto prisoners were rushed outside to another barrack. He quickly realized what Papa had meant about the wooden-soled shoes. At best, all he could manage was a kind of quick shuffle. The rough surface of the wood scraped the skin on his soles, but David just tried to stay upright. The last thing he wanted to do was to fall down and get kicked and thumped by his captors.

Once they entered the next building, Kapo Martz started yelling immediately. "Here, you bastards! Form two lines at each table! _Los! Los!_"

David stuck close to Papa, not wanting to let even one person get between them. There were three tables in the room, each manned by two prisoners. Open ledgers lay on the tables, alongside little piles of cloth pieces and what appeared like small, round badges. Off to the side, a couple of SS officers stood looking smug and bored, obviously there to oversee the registration process.

As their line slowly moved forward, David could hear the book keepers ask each newcomer the same questions; name, nationality, city of birth and, curiously, whether each man considered himself a Communist or not. David listened carefully to the responses, noting that nearly every Jew claimed he was Polish.

"Papa," David whispered, getting Jakob's attention. "Maybe we shouldn't say that we're German."

His father moved slightly and looked back at David with a dazed expression. "Why do you say this, my son?" he asked with a low voice.

"I think it'd be better…if we said that we're Poles."

Jakob just stared at him, as though the very suggestion confused him. Sensing their time was growing short, David said, "I just want us to be like everyone else here. It might be safer."

Papa kept silent and turned his shaved head to face forward. After a long moment, he looked back over his shoulder. "Alright. We'll tell them we are from Skozenka."

Jakob and David finally got their turn at the front of the line. As agreed, Papa answered every question in perfect Polish. When finished, he was handed three pieces of cloth; a yellow triangle with the letter "P" stamped on it, and two pieces of white linen printed with large, black numbers.

"Put the triangle on the left breast of your jacket, with the numbered swatch underneath," the book keeper explained, pointing to Jakob's shirt. "The other piece goes on the left trouser leg above the knee." He handed Jakob a round metal badge and a piece of wire.

"What's the wire for?" Jakob asked, examining the two items.

With an annoyed tone, the man behind the desk said, "It goes through the hole in the badge, then around your neck."

Holding the items in his hands, Jakob solemnly stepped away from the table. He turned and joined a small group of prisoners standing to the side, each helping the other sew the patches onto their clothing.

David stepped to the table and answered the same questions. When his interview was done, David accepted a handful of the same fabric and his own badge. He went over to Jakob and asked to see his number.

"20147," Jakob replied, showing David the piece of linen.

"Mine is 20148," David replied softly. He couldn't help but wonder if over twenty thousand others had been through this same humiliation before him. Considering how well organized the whole registration procedure had been, there wasn't much doubt in his mind that the precision-minded Germans had spent a long time perfecting the process.

David glanced over at the prisoners who were stitching the linen patches into place on their clothing. There were very few needles, and it would be a while before his turn came. He looked down at the grey-colored badge and turned it around a few times in his hand. It was about the size of a large coin and had his number stamped in the middle.

While David concentrated on the small metal disk, images of Hannah and Malinka floated through his mind. Maybe to the Nazis, they were just numbers, but not to him. He had a name, and a soul, and every right to live as a free human being. Dignity was the one thing the Nazis couldn't strip from him, and he wasn't about to ever forget that.

Raising his head, David saw Martz staring at him. The odd look in the man's eyes sent an uneasy shiver down his spine. He couldn't really describe it; certainly not hate, nor even contempt, things he'd seen a thousand times on the faces of his German oppressors. No, this look was more sinister. Penetrating, almost as if...

Suddenly, the true realization hit, and David quickly turned away. A chill raced over his skin, raising goosebumps as his heartbeat started racing.

_How long had he been staring at him like that?_

Although David had done nothing to be ashamed of, his cheeks prickled with warmth.

"_No,_" he whispered to himself, attempting to rationalize what he'd seen. Martz was merely trying to intimidate him, making sure he knew who was master here. David lifted his eyes and hesitantly looked at the Kapo again. The lustful stare was still there, tearing into him and holding on like razor sharp claws.

In a room full of dozens of other scared prisoners, David stood alone, more terrified than he'd ever been before.

* * *

Consciousness slowly crept back over Kendrick, like warm water seeping into tired muscles during a relaxing bath. He opened his eyes and blinked several times, waiting for his blurry vision to clear. His hospital room appeared small, but felt somewhat familiar. The faint odor of outside air mingled with whiffs of antiseptic and the musky scent of unwashed bodies.

Kendrick focused inward, hoping to feel everything from the right hip down to his toes. Although the muscles were numb, he breathed a sigh of relief as he sensed the weight of a wool blanket draped over both legs. Kendrick tried to move his injured limb, but burning pain shot up from deep inside the thigh, quickly halting any further attempts to flex the muscles. He slowed his breathing and waited for the ache to settle down.

Resuming his inspection of the recovery ward, Kendrick noticed there were other wounded men lying on primitive bunks nearby. Although it was hard to see them clearly, he scanned every face hoping that one would be Willy's. Eventually, he caught the attention of an attractive nurse who was walking between the rows of beds. Her blonde hair was tied in a round bun which stuck out from underneath a pristine white cap. Thin, graceful arms held an assortment of towels and a small, metal bowl under a well-rounded bosom. Kendrick watched as she raised a free hand and tucked some loose hair back behind an ear.

She came to his bedside and set the items down on a crude wooden stand. He could see the tiredness around her eyes, but tanned skin and perky features drew his complete attention to this beautiful fraulein.

"_Wie Sie fühlen_?" she asked, and placed a hand on his forehead.

"Better, now that you're here," Kendrick answered, displaying his best smile.

She smiled graciously in return, and Kendrick felt at least one important muscle underneath his bedcover twitch in response.

"Oh, all of you men say the same thing," she scolded lightly.

She leaned over the table and dipped one of the towels into the bowl. Wringing the water out, she folded the material and carefully patted around his face. The coolness felt good. Kendrick tried to breathe in the humidified air to soothe his dry throat.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Hannah…"

Taken by surprise, Kendrick fought to stifle a cough and cringed when the spasm caused sudden pain from his wound.

"Are you alright?" she asked, taking his hand.

"Yeah," Kendrick mumbled, still trying to compose himself. No wonder her slight frame and soft voice had grabbed his attention.

"You just remind me of a girl I know," Kendrick continued. "Her name is Hannah, too, but I haven't seen her for a long time."

"Sounds like a special someone, _ja?_" Releasing the grip on his hand, Hannah set the wet towel on the table. She lifted the blanket off of his leg and began to gently probe around the thick bandage on his thigh.

"She is, I mean, she's the fiancée of my best friend," Kendrick said, watching as she checked the dressing. "His name is David. We've known each other since we were children."

"My, that is a long time. So where are these friends of yours?"

"I…I don't know…"

Kendrick worked hard to swallow the lump in his throat. Suddenly overwhelmed, he turned his head away, to keep from crying. The pain from his wound, coupled with the unbearable loss of not knowing either David's fate or whereabouts, hit with a vengeance. When first one tear, then another slipped from under his closed eyelids, Kendrick couldn't hide his despair any longer. Long, heart wrenching sobs tore from his heart, each one more painful than the last.

He felt a comforting hand rest on his shoulder, but it wasn't enough to ease the misery. Only now did he realize how much he'd been holding in—apprehension over both David's and Willy's welfare, and not ever knowing when the next bullet would strike, to name two. But those worries were nothing compared to his biggest one—his conscience. Kendrick had tried to erect strong, impenetrable walls to keep the massive weight of guilt held in check. Guilt that had been formed by hundreds of gallons of innocently shed blood he was responsible for. However, that emotional defense had just busted apart and remorse was gushing in, like floodwaters overwhelming a dam, threatening to drown the very soul he was certain had been left behind somewhere in a quiet Russian forest. And God, did it hurt.

A firmer hand took hold of his arm and pulled it away from his face. Through tear-soaked eyes, he saw the taller figure of a doctor lean over his bed and then felt the prick of a needle entering his shoulder. Within seconds, a hazy fog engulfed him, and peacefulness, although artificial, took over. As Kendrick relaxed his chest stopped heaving, letting his breathing relax. After one last shudder, Kendrick finally succumbed to exhaustion and drifted off into a deep sleep.

* * *

David opened his eyes for the umpteenth time that night. Lying on his bunk, he'd been listening to sounds in the camp—the rhythmic pacing of guards walking outside the barracks, and the quiet, but haunting, groans of the prisoners inside. But this time, it wasn't any of those sounds that had woken him. From somewhere in the inky interior, a man was snoring. David had to slam his eyes shut and cringe. How anyone could be so sound asleep in a place like this was completely unfathomable.

Three other men, including Jakob, were sharing the bunk with him. Each lay on his side in order to fit in a space that would have held half their number comfortably. Above and below were more rows of bunks, stretching nearly from the front of the building to the back. The lowest beds were level with the dirt floor; the highest stood about six feet above the ground. The mattresses were thin, straw-filled pallets, and two threadbare blankets the only covering for him and his three bunkmates. David's pillow consisted of an arm tucked under his head with his cap folded in between.

Gingerly, he checked to make sure his shoes were still tucked by his stomach. David had seen at least two barefoot prisoners today, and didn't want to take the chance of losing his footwear while he slept. Although it seemed unlikely that someone could reach between his body and Papa's to take them, David nestled a little closer towards his father's back. He wanted to make sure there wasn't the slightest bit of room between them.

One rumble, followed by another, erupted from his stomach. This newest frustration only threatened to add to the list of annoyances keeping him awake, as if he hadn't already had more than his share today. After finishing with registration, his group had been led to their home barrack. There, they spent the next five hours standing under the hot sun, instructed in everything from marching in close order drills, to removing and putting their caps back on with one quick snapping movement. To no surprise, Martz constantly berated them, lashing out with his whip every time someone didn't perform their task with blinding perfection.

Before the military-centered lessons, Martz had laid down the camp rules.

"Anyone who leaves this block will receive ten lashes. If anyone brings food in the barracks, ten lashes. If you leave your bunk unmade, ten lashes. Missing at a roll call, ten lashes. Stealing, twenty lashes."

By the end of his tirade, David was numb with rules.

After that, another hour had been spent on how the barracks were to be kept clean. _Clean_? With dirt floors and bunk pallets that were already reeking with the foul smell of human urine and waste?

David's thoughts were interrupted as the man sleeping behind him tried to shift position. He turned this way and that, but did little more than to jab David with an elbow and then a knee. Sighing, David cradled his sore and tender stomach, tortured not only from laying on the bulky shoes but also by a full bladder. The last condition was interesting since he hadn't had much more than a cup of water to drink all day.

Before being corralled into the barrack for the night, the Germans had given them a cup of warm, but horribly bitter coffee and a piece of stale bread. David had managed a few swallows of the ersatz coffee, but when his stomach began churning, he'd given the rest to Papa, who'd immediately gulped it down. David had noticed several other men swapping their cups with willing volunteers for bigger portions of bread rations and then stuffing the small pieces in their pockets instead of eating them. Hoarding food must be a way of life here, just like in the ghetto—and no wonder, considering the pitiful amounts the Germans fed them. _Could there also be a black market here in the camp?_

David pushed that question aside, along with his aching stomach, and tried to will his tired and hungry body back to sleep. If he didn't get some rest soon, he'd regret it in the morning. He closed his eyes and thought about Hannah, remembering her smell, and pretending he was huddled next to her warm body. Although the memories tugged at his heart, a part of him felt at peace knowing that somewhere nearby, his beloved was no doubt thinking about him, too.

* * *

"So you were in a concentration camp?" Starsky asked in a plaintive tone.

"Yes…several, in fact," David answered, pulling himself back into the present.

"You're not serious; you were in more than one?" Starsky's blue eyes nearly danced out of his head. David could remember Michael's doing that also, whenever he'd get really excited about something. Before he could answer, he heard a knock at the door to Starsky's room. A hospital volunteer wearing a pink and white pin-striped smock came in carrying a lunch tray.

"Hello," the candy striper said, scanning all the men in the room. "I have Mr. Starsky's lunch."

"That'd be me," Starsky answered, lazily raising his hand.

"My, is it noon already?" Kendrick asked, looking at the clock on the wall. "Seems like I just finished breakfast half an hour ago."

Hutch got up and made room for the young volunteer to place Starsky's tray on the bedside table. "Looks like one of your favorites, Starsk. Pork and beans," he said, eying the food with a faintly disgusted face.

"Yeah, well, doesn't mean it's going to taste good." Starsky glanced at David as if he wanted to say something, but then turned his attention back to his plate.

"Well, I'm sure you'd rather eat without an audience." Hutch sidled over to Kendrick. "The cafeteria food isn't too bad here. Lunch is on me if you and David would care to join me."

Kendrick got up from his chair. "I don't try to make a habit of turning down a free meal," he said, casually running a hand through his hair. "Are you coming with us?" he asked David.

David noticed Starsky was staring at him again. Although he wasn't sure, David sensed that his cousin wanted him to stay. Keeping his seat, he stretched out his right leg and feigned a slight grimace.

"You know, my hip's been acting up lately," he said as he glanced back at his relative and observed a slight smile. "Here," he said, pulling out his wallet and handing a bill to Kendrick. "Could you bring me back something? A sandwich, maybe?"

"Put your money away, David," Hutch said, gathering his jacket. "What would you like?"

"Oh, turkey if they have it. If not, ham and cheese will be fine."

"Sure." Hutch nodded towards Starsky. "Enjoy your meal, okay, partner?"

"You bet."

After watching the two men leave, Starsky pushed the tray away a bit. "I was gonna apologize," he started, "but I don't think I need to anymore."

"Apologize about what?" David asked.

"Not eating kosher…for one." Starsky picked up his fork and gently prodded the tiny hotdog links around on the plate. "Pop never really made me or Nicky stick to the _Kashrut_. Ma did on special occasions, but that was about it. I guess I thought you'd be disappointed if you found out that I'm not very Jewish. But since you seem to eat ham…"

Starsky dipped his head, either unable or unwilling to continue.

"Dave, I would never be disappointed because of something like that. My father, as much as I considered him a traditionalist, didn't observe every law or holiday, but he would've knocked you flat if you'd said he wasn't a real Jew for not doing so."

David leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs. "Being religious is about what's in your heart," he said. "Actions _can_ speak louder than words, but even if a man follows every verse of the Torah and yet, doesn't have love in his heart, then how can he call himself a child of God?"

"I think I see your point, it's just that…well, sometimes I wonder if I'm being punished because I don't exactly practice my faith."

David sat up straight. "How can you say such a thing? Is this what you really believe?"

Starsky's fork dropped from his hand. He glanced out the window, a play of emotions running across his face. It was obvious he had more to say, so David sat back and waited.

"You know, it's different today," Starsky said finally, after taking a deep breath. "People don't just walk up and get away with shooting somebody because they're a Protestant, or Catholic or a Jew. Other than putting up with a few bad jokes, I wouldn't be risking a thing if I started wearing a yarmulke and began reciting the _Shacharit_ every morning in the squad room." He looked over at David. "Is that why you don't follow the _Kashrut_? Did the Nazis make you too afraid to be a Jew anymore?"

David gasped in surprise, but before he could think of a fitting response, Starsky said, "Hey, I'm sorry. That was badly worded and none of my business…it's just Pop never talked about what happened during the war. I remember walking with him to the store and we'd go past a synagogue." Starsky shook his head. "He'd get this look on his face, like a lost puppy, and then he'd barely say anything afterwards. It'd be the same around Hanukkah. Ma would set the menorah out and light the candles, but lookin' at Pop, you'd think she'd just stuck a Nazi flag in the window for the whole neighborhood to see."

Starsky paused for a moment and raised a palm up to his face. David almost didn't notice the tear that was hastily brushed away.

"When I got older and learned a little more about the Holocaust and how Jews were targeted, I figured that Pop believed the same thing could happen again, so he quit being one."

David shuddered as the epiphany hit. "Is that why you think your father was killed? Because he was being 'punished'…for not living as a Jew?"

A few more tears ran down Starsky's cheeks. "I dunno. I know it sounds stupid, but there always seemed to be something missing in him—"

"His childhood?"

Starsky did a double take. "Huh?"

David got up and walked over to the window. He gazed out through the glass and, for a moment, marveled at the dainty clouds high in the sky.

"It was hardest on the children," he said, keeping his attention focused on the heavens. "For so many of them, that's all they knew about life…what they saw in the ghettos and camps. Can you imagine? Seeing nothing but death and misery, constantly hungry, and never knowing what compassion from another human being feels like? Michael lost his father way too soon, and his mother…_scheisse_! At least Uncle Emir gave him a home, a place where he could feel loved and welcomed."

David turned and looked at Starsky. Even now, those indigo eyes were taking him back in time, to a small Polish town and down a dusty dirt lane to a thatched cottage with a wooden porch out front. Inside, two teenage boys sat cross-legged on an old twin bed, each sharing secrets and guessing how many kids they'd eventually father.

"Michael may not have been a child when he was taken away, but he didn't have any family with him." David could feel tears of his own starting to form. "I was already an adult, even before going to the ghetto, but at least I had Hannah, and Papa, and Uncle Emir. Michael was all alone. How he survived…I'll never know."

David pulled himself out of the dreary past and walked over to the bed. He took the narrow table hovering over the bed and scooted it closer to Starsky.

After eying the uneaten food on the tray, he said, "You know, a blind man could see the goodness in your heart. You are Michael's legacy, and you should be proud that you are his son. I'm sure he gave you everything he could, from inside," David emphasized the point by putting a hand on his heart. "He didn't die because he was afraid to go inside a temple. You weren't shot and hurt because Yahweh didn't think you were being a good Jew, and I didn't end up in a concentration camp because I never grew _peyos_. All of us were just in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Nothing more, nothing less. So here," David said, picking up the fork and handing it to Starsky. "Eat. Get well. Let the past stay in the past. We can't change what has happened, only learn from it."

Starsky gave him an appreciative smile and took the fork.

.

.

Chapter 23

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Hutch and Kendrick got off the elevator at the ground floor and followed a couple of surgeons dressed in scrubs into the hospital cafeteria. They exchanged small talk while pushing their trays down the stainless steel lunch counters, trying to decide which selections looked best under the steam-coated glass. Hutch wavered between the meatloaf and vegetarian lasagna, but Kendrick selected the lasagna without hesitation. After finding an empty table near the window to the outdoor planetarium, both sat down and dug into their meals.

After a few bites of his food, Kendrick said, "The food here is good. It certainly beats what the hospital back home serves."

"I take it that you've had to spend some time there?" Hutch asked, hoping he wasn't sounding too nosey.

"On occasion," Kendrick replied casually. "The last time was because I fell off a step stool at David's house. He kept insisting he couldn't hang a picture up in his living room by himself."

"Were you hurt bad?"

Kendrick shook his head. "Not in the sense you would consider. I cracked my tailbone and bruised my ego, that's all."

Hutch chuckled appreciatively, not only because of Kendrick's last comment, but in honest response to the man's subtle ability to make him feel at ease and respected. If truth be told, there were times when Hutch wished he could harbor a bit more sensitivity, maybe a little more patience dealing with things and people who drove him nuts. But considering what Kendrick had experienced during the war, what he'd done and seen, how'd this guy turn out so decent?

"The gunshot wound," Hutch said, nodding down at Kendrick's leg. "Did it take you out of the war?"

A sad laugh erupted. "_Ja_, out of the frying pan and into the fire." He looked solemnly at Hutch, and with a quieter voice said, "At the time, I thought being sent to guard prisoners in concentration camps would be a welcome relief from the hell on the battlefield, or killing innocent people. But that was before I saw what was going on there." He shuddered. "It was…_unspeakable_. Never in my life would I have thought a German could treat another human being that way."

Hutch sipped at his iced tea, not sure if he wanted to hear this part of the man's story. "Is that how you finally found David?" he asked.

"Not when he was in Majdanek. No, it would be another year before I would see him again, in Auschwitz."

"God, he was in Auschwitz?" Hutch cringed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Kendrick nodded. "I almost didn't believe my own eyes when I saw him. By then, I was certain he was dead. Nearly everyone from the Warsaw ghetto got sent to Treblinka, and if you were sent there, you didn't survive. It was a death camp, not a _Durchgangslager_, a transit camp, like the Nazis called it. Almost a million people were killed there…a million! In less than a year! And just a handful, maybe two dozen, survived—only because they were able to escape."

"Is that where you worked?" Hutch ventured.

"No, thank God. I was sent to Buchenwald first, but after six months they transferred me to Dachau, then, finally, Auschwitz."

Instead of asking another question, Hutch let Kendrick's responses sink in. Quiet settled between them, and both used the opportunity to finish their lunches.

Taking a last sip of iced tea, Hutch ended the silence. "The other day," he started, clearing his throat, "I mentioned that if something ever happened to Starsky, I would…" Recognizing the chastising smile on Kendrick's face, he stopped for a second. "If he ever _died_," Hutch continued sheepishly, "I'd have a hard time getting on with my life. What was going through your head in the hospital? You'd been shot; you hadn't seen David in ages…and what about Willy? How bad was he hurt?"

Kendrick's head bowed, an infinitely sad look on his face. His forlorn expression cut through Hutch like a sharp knife.

"He didn't make it," Kendrick replied, his blue eyes fading along with his smile. "The damage was too great, and he died during the operation."

Hutch's nerves tightened at hearing the all too familiar choice of words.

_Massive damage._

_Severe blood loss._

_It's not likely he'll survive._

These had all become permanently etched into his memory. Hutch grimaced, recalling the precarious, horrible position he had been in just a few weeks ago—not wanting to accept the reality that Starsky could die, but too scared to believe in a miracle. Starsky got that miracle, yet even now, it still seemed too good to be true.

One day his partner would walk out of the hospital on his own two feet. Until then, Hutch would have to keep one of his own planted firmly in a dark puddle of uncertainty—one that hovered between his best friend's recovery, and a perilous relapse.

Shaking away his musings, Hutch said, "I'm sorry to hear that." He quickly realized how insincere that probably sounded. Words alone wouldn't begin to ease the loss of a good friend, no matter how long ago the person died.

"Thank you," Kendrick said evenly. He placed his silverware on the empty plate and removed the napkin from his lap. After dabbing his mouth, he carefully tucked the thin paper under the plate's rim. "Willy was like so many others. He died far too young, never getting a chance to really experience life. _Ach du lieber,_" he muttered sadly. "Such a waste of human life, and for what?" Kendrick paused. "I'm sorry," he said. "Here, you have bought my lunch and I'm thanking you with depressing conversation."

"No, it's alright," Hutch said, sitting up straighter. "War has gotta be hell, and frankly, I'm amazed at how well you _and_ David seemed to have dealt with what you went through."

A feeble smile tugged at Kendrick's lips. "I'm sure he would be glad to know you said that."

Hutch wondered what lay beneath the surface of that simple reply. "It still haunts you, doesn't it?" he asked. "All that you had to go through?"

Hutch waited anxiously, hoping Kendrick would trust him enough to answer. They were both warriors, men who'd danced with death on a daily basis; all the while keeping their fingers crossed that the Black Angel would never punch their dance cards. True warriors had secrets, ones that were only shared with other warriors, and Hutch wanted to know some of Kendrick's. That was a cop's nature; especially when it involved someone who had a close association with his partner, no matter how unorthodox that connection was.

"Yes," Kendrick finally confided. "But not as bad as what David suffers."

The answer threw Hutch for an instant, but then it dawned as to why he could relate so closely with this man. Sure, Kendrick might turn out to be some distant relative, but there was a deeper, more precise reason Hutch felt so comfortable with him. Both of them shared one, very unique thing in common.

"You really care about David, don't you?" Hutch asked. "So much that when he's hurting, you feel…you feel bad because you can't take it away. Even to the point you feel responsible for his pain…"

Hutch sighed. He wasn't sure what made him disclose such a deeply personal revelation with someone he'd only known for two days. Especially one that, up until this moment, he didn't realize he'd owned.

"Yes, I care about David a great deal," Kendrick admitted, tugging at the open front of his shirt. "And as far as feeling responsible, I guess you could say that I do—"

"I…I didn't mean you were the one who pinned a number to his chest and threw him into a concentration camp."

"I know," Kendrick said, pressing an open palm out at Hutch. "But I was a Nazi, a member of the SS, so my hands cannot be washed clean."

"But David knows that, doesn't he? I mean, you were a soldier, and whether you feel that you didn't make the right choice in following orders, you had the responsibility of protecting your fellow soldiers. You were _told_ the Jews were your enemy and had to be destroyed; it wasn't as if you actually believed that."

Kendrick lowered his eyes to the table, with intense contemplation showing on his face.

"But that doesn't make me any more righteous, does it?" he said hesitantly.

Hutch leaned forward. "No, but you've been his friend, despite what everyone else around you believed about Jews at the time."

"His friend," Kendrick repeated, sounding as if he was unconvinced. "I suppose that's what I tell myself when I see one of his flashbacks."

"David has flashbacks?" Hutch felt himself flush. This was getting very personal; whether David experienced traumatic flashbacks or not was none of his business. When Kendrick raised concerned eyes, Hutch braced for a well-deserved reprimand.

Surprisingly, it didn't come.

"Yes, he has them," Kendrick agreed. "Maybe not so much now as before. I have a few, once in awhile, but they tend to just be bad dreams. David's come at any time, any place." He paused and shook his head. "Sometimes he tells me what he sees, but I think the worst things, he keeps those to himself."

"Do you feel shut out when he does that?" Hutch asked, recalling times when Starsky had hidden his true feelings.

Kendrick thought for a moment. "No, I don't. There are many memories I keep locked away. Scenes that are so dark and inhuman, they deserve to be buried forever." His expression hardened. "Every man has those, yes? Things we have experienced or seen, where we are ashamed of what we did, or what we didn't do…"

A knot tightened in Hutch's stomach. When asked about the shooting, Starsky had said he didn't remember hardly anything; a few images of the patrol car racing towards them, not much else. Hutch suspected there was more his partner hadn't revealed, details he thought Hutch wouldn't want to know about. Things, like Kendrick said, that would make him feel ashamed of what he didn't do.

"When I saw the men who shot Starsky driving straight at us, I panicked," Hutch confessed. "I dropped to the ground, scared shitless. All I could hear was the sound of machine gun fire, nothing else. When I got up, I couldn't figure out why I had broken glass all over me. It wasn't until I went around to Starsky that I saw the bullet holes, high, on the car." Hutch petted his mustache. "That's when I knew Starsky hadn't gotten down..."

Hutch closed his eyes, trying not to remember all of the sights and sounds from that day. That memory was still too fresh and raw; the scab barely hardened. He quickly slammed the lid down on Pandora's box, afraid that if he didn't, all kinds of misery would begin to escape.

Kendrick shifted in his chair. "Are you saying you feel guilty because you weren't shot?" he gently asked.

The words got stuck in Hutch's throat. All he could manage was a small nod of his head.

"What if I said that because I didn't wear striped rags, wasn't beaten daily, or didn't go days without food or water, that I don't deserve David's friendship?"

Hutch opened his eyes and stared at the man sitting across the table. "I'd say…you were wrong."

"And so are you, to feel the way you do," Kendrick said firmly. "Fate is a funny thing. I look at pictures, on the news, of homes destroyed by a tornado. You see one house, totally gone," Kendrick lifted both hands and quickly spread them far apart. "Then, right next door, is another house. Completely untouched. Do the people who live there look at their neighbor and say, 'We don't deserve a roof over our heads. Here, we are moving out onto the street?"

"No, of course not," Hutch answered quietly.

"But don't you see? You are doing the same thing. There was nothing you could've done to stop that car. Whether you want to believe it or not, I bet David…Starsky, is thankful that you weren't hurt. At least, not physically, yes?" Kendrick leaned back in his chair. "But sometimes, emotional pain can hurt just as bad."

Hutch gave an appreciative smile. "I'm not the only one who's felt that way, am I?"

"No, probably not." Kendrick said, with a tiny grin. He picked up the wrapped sandwich lying beside his plate. "I think we should go back upstairs, before David uses our tardiness as a reason to make _me_ pay for dinner tonight."

* * *

Hutch could already sense the neck hairs standing up even before they arrived at Starsky's room. There was a palpable tension in the air, and it was only getting stronger the closer he got to his partner. When Hutch stepped into the room, the sight of a nurse leaning over Starsky made him quiver.

"I'm fine," Starsky croaked, catching a glimpse of Hutch.

Sitting alongside the bed, David turned and gave the two arrivals a worried glance.

"What happened?" Hutch asked, steaming over to stand right by the nurse.

"I told you, I'm fine…it was nothin'." Starsky sounded weak, but his eyes locked on Hutch like a lifeline.

"I don't think lunch agreed with him today," Doris, the nurse, said. She finished wiping Starsky's face and leaned over to grab the metal kidney basin off of the night stand. "I've got the kitchen sending up a bowl of pudding and some mashed potatoes. His stomach can probably handle that. Maybe you should drink a glass of milk, too," Doris added, still looking concerned about her patient.

"You sound like my mother," Starsky grumbled. He watched as she stepped back and let Hutch assume the privileged spot by the bed.

"I'll take that as a compliment, young man," Doris answered, slightly tilting her grey-curled head forward and peering over her reading glasses. "You're never too old for your mother. Now, are you sure that chest tube isn't pinching anymore?"

Hutch switched his attention from Doris back to Starsky. Tired, but innocent-looking eyes met his, but he'd known his partner for too long. "Starsky?" he asked, his tone firm and demanding.

"Look, I'm not a kid," he answered low but defiantly. "And with everyone lookin' at me like I've got a forked tail and pitchfork—"

"Alright, alright," Hutch conceded, raising a hand up in surrender. Glancing at Doris, he said, "Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on him."

Smiling, she replied, "I'll go round up a clean basin. Be back in a jiffy."

Once she'd left the room, Kendrick handed David's sandwich to him. "Leave you in charge for a few minutes and see what happens?" he said, the sly grin on his face betraying his stern voice.

With a look of feigned hurt, David announced, "I'll have you know, _**I**_ was the one who grabbed the basin in time."

"Hey, can we talk about something else?" whined Starsky.

Hutch smiled at his partner. "You're just going to have to wait a little longer for that chili and onion hotdog, huh?"

Starsky gave him a smirk, then looked at David. "You know, Cuz, anytime you're ready to go on with the story will be fine with me."

David had unwrapped his sandwich and was hastily trying to finish a quick bite. Accepting a few tissues from Kendrick, he wiped the corner of his mouth as his friend sat down beside him.

"Well, it's not exactly 'pleasant' conversation," David managed with one of his cheeks still full. "If you're not feeling well—"

"I'm good, I'm good! Why doesn't anyone believe me?"

"Starsky, then at least give him a few minutes to finish his lunch," admonished Hutch.

"Huh? Oh yeah, sorry."

* * *

David awoke with a start. Martz's shrill voice had cut through his exhausted brain and pinched a nerve somewhere behind his forehead, causing an immediate headache. The man sleeping beside him was already up, taking away the blanket they shared. The cool air inside the barrack made David start shivering, taxing his strength. After digging ditches for five days he was already feeling considerably weak.

"Papa? Are you awake?" David asked. He felt around clumsily for the shoes he'd tucked by his stomach.

Jakob answered with a moan, but began to rise.

It was dark, like always, in the barrack. Without a watch, or even access to one, David was never sure of the time, but it had to be around four in the morning. Slipping his shoes on, he climbed down from the bunk and quickly helped straighten the bedding. Amidst more screaming from Martz, David followed the mad rush of men who poured out of the building. The prisoners shuffled over to the latrines as fast as they could. David had learned if he didn't get to the crowded toilets fast enough, he was forced to either hold it for the rest of the day or go in his pants.

Today, both he and Papa were lucky. They'd found two vacant spaces near the end of the long bench that posed as a latrine for several of the barracks. For David, this was practically a Godsend as he'd been plagued lately by an upset stomach and frequent dysentery.

The latrines were located in the middle of the compound, and at peak use times, several hundred men could be struggling to get in and out as fast as possible, always rushed by the Kapos. The building was nothing more than a long, hastily built shack. A single wooden duct, about two feet high and four feet wide, spanned the floor from one end to the other. Covered with thick wooden planks, it had two rows of foot-long holes bored out at regular intervals down the entire length. There was no running water, no sinks or faucets, and as far as David could tell, all the waste just fell into an open pit lying underneath. The smell was unbearable, but other than the small wooden buckets set inside the barracks at night, it was the only 'official' place prisoners could go and relieve themselves, and then just twice a day.

When another prisoner sat down beside him and began to nudge his naked buttock against David's, he reluctantly gave up his seat. Not all prisoners were either so polite or accommodating. The bigger and stronger ones had no problems yanking the weaker ones off or staying seated until the last possible moment, before the untouchable Kapos came plowing through the building swinging their whips and batons.

"_Raus, raus_, you filthy dogs!"

Martz's shrill voice was instantly recognizable as he yelled in unison with other block leaders. David and Jakob stumbled outside into the dark, and followed the crowd to the center of the sparsely lit roll call yard, where a few tables were set up with the morning's breakfast. They took their places in line and each received a metal bowl. Next, they paused in front of two large wooden barrels, both emitting a fine cloud of steam from their inky contents. Using a large ladle, a prisoner quickly dumped about a half liter of the black substance into each bowl. Cuddling the warm dishes, the David and Jakob sought out an open spot of ground and carefully sat down.

David took a preliminary sip, then pursed his lips together.

"How can you drink this?" he asked Jakob, and watched his father swallow about half of his ration before he stopped.

"You must think of it as something your body needs, not how bad it tastes," Jakob answered.

"I think it's because of this that my body 'needs' to go all the time." David scanned the area checking to see if Martz was anywhere nearby. If he was, they'd have to get up out of the dirt or risk being struck for the hell of it.

"No, that's probably because of what's in the soup. Haven't you noticed what those odd shaped leaves are?"

David shook his head and tried to swallow more of the bitter liquid.

"Weeds. They're all over the ground where we're digging."

Suddenly, David caught sight of a Kapo. "Come," he said, tugging at Jakob's arm.

They got up and joined the line to rinse out their bowls. Amid more shrill screams and threats from their overseers, they were herded back to the barracks to perform their assigned cleaning chores. Once they'd finished, David and the others were ordered out into the yard for roll call. He could just see the first pinkish shades of the approaching dawn on the horizon.

He and Jakob took their places in front of the barrack and waited for the command.

"_Stillgestanden! Mutzen ab, augen links!_"

Hundreds of prisoners immediately came to attention. Each man snatched off his cap and turned his eyes to the left, all exactly at the same time. Unlike he'd done the first morning, David kept his head perfectly still and concentrated on his focal point, a Nazi flag back lit by a yard light. In the still darkened sky, its bright red color glistened like a blood-drenched banner. Today, he didn't see which unfortunate prisoner let his eyes wander; David only heard the beating and cursing from the Kapo that caught him.

Watching the wind catch the flag and lazily wave it back and forth, David thought about Hannah, happy he could freely indulge in thinking about her. Daydreaming during any other time took his mind off of what was happening around him, and in this camp that could bring the blow of a block leader's baton or a deadly shot from a watchtower guard. All he was expected to do during roll call was to stand like a statue, not make a sound, or turn his head. So he kept his gaze locked on the red flag, and watched daylight reclaim the night sky. Memories of him and Hannah together slowly seeped in, and David tried to keep the pain of their separation from overtaking his heart. For a while, he'd thought about her every night when he'd gone to bed, letting the good times they'd had lead him to sleep. But lately, he'd been too exhausted to reminisce, and lying without her soft body by his side was too hard to accept.

All too soon, the cry of '_Arbeitskommando formieren_' echoed through the yard. Replacing his cap, David started to run with Jakob to his assigned work gang. He didn't get very far.

"20148!"

David stopped dead in his tracks. Before turning to acknowledge the caller, he stared at Jakob, who was waiting just a few feet away. Both knew the full range of what the summons could mean—anything from just a strike over the head to being thrown down to the ground and shot like an animal. David tried to keep his fear hidden, not wanting to upset Papa. Giving him a brief smile, David spun around and with equally fast movement, snapped his cap off and came to attention.

"20148, follow me."

Martz eyed him coldly. He began walking to the entrance of their barracks. Left with no choice, David replaced his cap and, giving Jakob one last glance, followed the Kapo inside.

The stocky man entered his private room, and stood just inside the open door. Every barrack had two of these rooms, no bigger than a firewood shed, that sat near the front entrance. One was for the Kapo, the other generally for either the block leader or someone the Kapo chose as his helper. David had heard rumors in camp of one young boy who was serving as a 'helper' in another compound. This child never had to work in a kommando, always seemed well fed and even wore clean clothes. It was the other rumors about him that David wasn't quite sure he believed.

"Come in, you piece of shit!"

David removed his cap and walked cautiously into the tiny room. What drew his attention first was the welcome site of the single bed against the wall right in front of him, a comfy mattress not hard to envision under the padded quilt cover. To the left, sat a simple wooden desk covered with various papers. A slightly warped picture of Hitler's profile hung on the wall above. Against the opposite wall was a narrow, crudely made wooden locker alongside a small, cast iron wood stove with a little pot sitting on the flat top. Stacked on the floor close to the stove, was a pile of firewood and a wooden crate holding a few raw potatoes and a handful of turnips. After months of deprivation, David thought the room looked like a fancy hotel suite.

The sound of the door slamming got his attention. David immediately stiffened, and assumed the expected stance with both arms down at his sides and his head bowed. Martz finally took off his own cap and, after tossing it on the desk, flopped down on the bed. David remained still, but his mind was racing, not sure what to think of this strange invitation.

"You like this, _ja_?" Martz teased, sweeping an arm out and then resting it on his thigh.

David didn't answer, but nodded his head sensing that a different answer might invite a beating.

"I've been watching you," the Kapo continued, his voice turning sultry. "And I think you will like what I have in mind."

David's head popped up. His heart was beating wildly. He wasn't sure what this criminal had in mind, but David knew he wouldn't like anything this man had to offer.

Afraid to look directly at Martz, David kept his eyes on the fabric swatch sewn on the convict's right chest. During the past two weeks, David had learned what the different colored triangles meant. A green one, like Martz wore, indicated a long-time criminal. They were the ones to avoid, especially if they were Kapos. Almost as bad were the 'blacks'; hateful miscreants and troublemakers. Red identified political prisoners; purple, Jehovah's Witnesses. David hadn't seen too many of these last two, but yellow and pink, were the worst colors to wear. Jews and homosexuals, or 'bum-fuckers', always received the most severe beatings and punishments.

Martz gave a little snort and bent over to reach under the bed. He pulled out an enamel-coated basin from between his feet. There was about an inch or so of cloudy water in it and he slid the large bowl over to David.

"There's a wash rag hanging over there," Martz said, nodding towards the cloth hanging on a large nail by the stove. "Clean yourself off."

Not knowing what to do, David stood dumbfounded for a moment. Slowly, he turned around and grabbed the damp rag. He knelt down by the basin and started to dip the cloth into the water when Martz suddenly shot up off of the bed.

"No, you Yid bastard!" he spat out. "Take your fucking clothes off first!"

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

Hi Everyone, I hope you are enjoying the story so far. The subject matter is very sad, but I've always felt this tale had a message that needed to be told...of how the human spirit can be resilient and survive against tremendous adversity. Unfortunately, someone very close to me is losing his fight for life...my dad. Waiting for the inevitable is hard and so I'm sure you'll understand if I don't post any intros until the last chapter. Dad was a WWII veteran, spending the majority of his service in post-war Germany. He's been my inspiration, my hero and the greatest man in my life for the past 51 years..._I love you, Daddy_.

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Chapter 24

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Kendrick steadied himself with the two crutches, and looked down at the wooden cross on the fresh grave.

"Panzeroberschütze Frank," the inscription read, "February 17th 1922 – June 30th 1942."

Gingerly, Kendrick balanced himself on his good leg and placed both crutches in one hand. Bending the left knee as much as he could, he lowered himself to the ground and quickly dropped on his butt, wincing at the pain that shot through his wounded leg. It would be hell trying to get back up, but for now Kendrick wanted to be close to Willy.

He reached inside his shirt pocket, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. The week he'd spent recuperating in the field hospital had nearly driven him crazy because he'd only been allowed to smoke three times a day. As for the leg, it was healing all right, but there was no doubt in anyone's mind that Kendrick wouldn't be returning to his unit. He was coming to terms with his disability, however, a soldier's purpose was to fight against the enemy, and since he couldn't physically do that, what else was there?

Kendrick lit the cigarette and forcefully sucked in the first drag. He held it for a long time, then let the smoke slowly escape from his lungs. His eyes fell on the grave marker once again. Repositioning his good leg, Kendrick settled back a bit and let his heart speak.

"Hey Willy, it's me," he started, then suddenly found himself without words. Kendrick glanced up at the sky, a brilliant blue today, and wondered if Heaven's was any different. A slight breeze picked up, pulling a few hair strands loose and waving them across his forehead. He took another long drag, then focused on the grave.

"I thought I'd stop by and let you know that my leg is getting better."

Kendrick stopped again. He hadn't thought that talking to a dead friend would be so hard. Physically, he was as close to Willy as he'd always been, but now, spiritually, he couldn't feel a connection. Maybe that was because of all the misery standing in the way. This war, the killing, all the madness—it was constantly stabbing and then squeezing his heart empty of every single drop of humanity and compassion. His soul was already lost. All he had left was just a thin layer of hope; something to cling onto, and pray it would keep him sane enough to make it to tomorrow.

He ran a hand over the packed earth in front of him. The ground felt warm and soft. Kendrick took a deep breath, and felt a part of his spirit lift, and a smile tug unexpectedly on his lips. Despite the body cradled just below its surface, the earth smelled of life.

"I hope wherever you're at," Kendrick finally ventured, "that it's peaceful, because you certainly deserve it. I'm not sure where they're going to send me now…can't really do much. I guess it will keep me away from fighting, but you know the army—" He chuckled lightly, but then the reality of the moment crept back. "It's lonely now without you, buddy. Very lonely. But maybe you could do something for me? You know that friend I told you about…David?" Kendrick stopped to let the tightness in his throat ease. "Well, I don't know how things work up there, but if you see him, could you tell him…tell him that I never wanted any of this? He's a good guy, Willy, you'll see."

His conversation complete, Kendrick smoked the rest of his cigarette to the sounds of the wind that combed through the forest and rolled across the landscape. A few birds flew overhead, chirping as they sought to land in a nearby tree. He glanced at a few more graves, recognizing some names and skipping over others. Grimly, he wondered if he'd eventually end up in a similar spot, a hole dug somewhere in a foreign country with no friends or family to stand over him and mourn.

Thinking about family, he remembered he still hadn't opened a letter delivered to him earlier. It was from his mother. Kendrick dug the folded envelope out from the inside of his jacket and opened the letter inside.

.

_"**Dearest Kendrick,**_

_**How are you doing? Are you well? Your father and I miss you dearly. Every day we hope and pray that you will return to us healthy and safe.**_

_**We are both doing well. Sometimes the ration cards come a little late, but we have plenty to eat, and know that through the efforts from our brave soldiers Germany will conquer and defeat its enemies. We are so proud of you! Every day, your Farther hangs the flag in the front window, and every night we say a prayer for our Fuhrer, so that God will help him lead our great nation to victory.**_

_**Please, liebchen, take care of yourself and write to us when you get a chance.**_

_**Love, Mother and Father**"_

_.  
_

Kendrick folded the letter and stuck it back in the envelope. There were times when he deeply missed his parents, and then others, like now, where he was glad there was some distance between them. His mother, if she knew he'd been wounded, would be trying to care for him like a baby. Not helping him with any therapeutic measures, but smothering him with worry and affection. Father would just stand off to the side, doing what Mother wanted and being careful not to show any emotion.

"_Sturmmann Hutchinson_?"

Startled by the voice, Kendrick looked up to see a soldier standing close by. He let out a soft moan, feeling more than a bit self-conscious at being sprawled on the ground next to a grave.

"_Sturmmann_, excuse me for interrupting, but there is a _Hauptscharführer_ here that wishes to speak to you."

Kendrick nodded and accepted the private's offer to assist him in getting up. They exchanged a little small talk on the walk back to the tent hospital. Once inside, Kendrick joined the visiting master sergeant who was chatting with another patient.

"Ah, you must be Hutchinson," the sergeant said. He stuck his hand out to shake Kendrick's. "I am Sergeant Keiser, from Personnel. I've been checking on our wounded men in this area. So sorry to hear about your injury. Terrible thing." He glanced superficially at Kendrick's bandaged leg. "Tell me, is your leg getting better?"

Kendrick eyed the officer, wondering what his real intention was since nothing he had said so far sounded the least bit sincere.

"Yes, Herr Keiser," Kendrick replied. "They say I'll be able to walk without crutches in a couple of weeks."

"_Wunderbar!_" he exclaimed. "Then I am sure you've been wondering how you can keep contributing your invaluable skills to the Third Reich, yes?"

"Of course, sir." Kendrick felt his stomach turn at the ridiculous, self-serving exhibition he was watching.

"Well, as I was telling Private Hanks here, there is a great need for experienced soldiers to work in the concentration camps." Keiser eyed both of them, his fake smile about to slide off of his face. "As you know, duty in the camps is no less soldierly than service at the front. Both are vital if German superiority is to be guaranteed…is that not right, gentlemen?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Fine. When you have both finished recuperating, you will receive your new orders. _Heil Hitler!_"

"Heil Hitler!"

Kendrick watched as the officer pivoted and walked out of the makeshift building. He glanced at the private standing next to him. The irritated look on his face probably mirrored Kendrick's. In this army, there was no 'magic bullet' injury. If you were alive and had the use of at least one finger, Germany could still put you to work.

Certain there was nothing he could do about the sergeant's order, Kendrick returned to his ward and gratefully spread his tired body out on his simple bed. He closed his eyes, and thought about his missing friends. Soon, perhaps, he'd find his own way to be with them again.

* * *

David remained kneeled on the floor, staring in terror at the Kapo hovering above him.

"Didn't you hear me, filthy dog? I said 'strip!'"

Fear leapt high in his throat. David gulped and started to unbutton his shirt with shaky fingers. Once he slipped the garment off, he reached down and untied the thin strap of material that served as a crude belt. Meekly, he stood up and let his pants drop to the floor. Martz was breathing heavily, watching his every move.

David stepped out of the bundle at his feet and looked down at his underwear. They were soiled, but somehow he didn't think that was going to matter to the Kapo. Forcing his pride aside, David quickly slid them off.

He bent over and retrieved the washrag, dipped it in the basin, and began wiping his arms and chest. He tried not to look at Martz, who remained standing just an arm's length away. Mechanically, David continued washing until he felt every part of his body had been cleaned. Hesitantly, he looked up at Martz. David was so numb with fear that the sight of the man's hand jammed down the front of his trousers prompted no reaction.

"Are all of your people cut?" Martz asked, his face changing to show a perverted sense of awe.

David followed the fixed stare down to his penis. He had no idea of what _goyims_ generally did with their infant sons' dicks, but apparently many didn't circumcise them.

Martz quickly withdrew his buried hand and unzipped his pants. After shedding both trousers and underwear, he stepped back and sat down on the edge of the bed. Spreading both legs out wide, he gathered his penis in his hand. David's stomach turned looking at the dusky cock.

"Make it work," Martz grunted.

David remained frozen, his mind refusing to process what he'd just heard.

"Are you deaf as well as dumb? I said, 'make it work!'"

When David still couldn't move, Martz let out a loud huff and jumped up. He grabbed David's neck and shoved him to the floor, right in front of the bed. Again, Martz took a seat on the mattress. Gripping his dick, he pointed it straight at David's face.

"You think you have a choice here? You're a slave! You either do as I say or I'll kill you right now!"

David swallowed hard. Hesitantly, he reached up, hoping he only had to use his hand. Appearing satisfied, Martz removed his, and David warily took hold. He began to stroke, cringing at the feel of another man's penis in his hand. David kept his eyes on the Kapo's face and watched for any sign of displeasure.

Nausea soaked through him as the flaccid dick become firm. The feeling spurred an ignition of a fiery, acrid burst in David's stomach, which demanded immediate release. He tried to muffle the escaping gas, but its force was too strong. The putrid smell shot from his ass and filled the tiny room. Martz crinkled his face and stared hotly at him, totally disgusted and angry. David struggled to focus back on his chore, all the while wishing the bastard would just climax and end this sick humiliation.

Suddenly, a stomach spasm hit so violently that David clinched both hands tightly. Sweat poured over his skin, and despite the roaring montage of obscenities spewing from Martz, David lost the battle with his intestines. Runny excrement spilled down his thighs, but he barely cared. Too dizzy to keep his head up anymore, he slipped from his knees to the floor.

For a moment, everything went black, then spiking pain returned as he realized he was being kicked.

"You fucking bastard! Clean this shit up!" Martz swore as he stood over him.

Somehow, David found the strength to push himself up from the wooden floor. He looked around for the washrag, but as he tried to grab it, Martz kicked him again.

"Use your own clothes, not that!"

David fumbled through the pile, and hastily grabbed what he thought were his pants and not his shirt. Thankfully, the puddle wasn't very big, but it reeked horribly. Once he finished, David looked apprehensively at Martz, terrified of what might happen next. The man had put his trousers back on and was reaching for the whip lying on the mattress. David gathered the stinking bundle of clothes together and pressed it to his chest. He bowed his head, waiting for the blows to hit.

"Get out…" the deep voice said.

Stunned at the amazing turn of events, David hastily stood up on wobbly legs and rushed out of the room before Martz changed his mind. He pulled his damp pants out and quickly stepped into them, then hastily threw on his shirt as he fled from the barrack. He'd gone about ten yards when he realized he was in a very bad situation.

Stopping in the middle of the dusty yard, David anxiously peered around, checking to see if any Kapos were nearby. It didn't matter, though; as soon as anyone saw him, he'd be beaten, or worse. Resigned to his fate, David started walking towards the workshops where he'd likely find a kommando.

With his fear beginning to ebb, the stench from his soiled clothes drifted all around him. The sun had risen higher in the clear blue sky, promising to eventually dry his clothing. David used to enjoy watching daybreak. He'd marvel at how the sun would announce its arrival with bright, golden colors. But here, the start of each day was something that could never be viewed with pleasure. Sunrise was more like a dreaded omen…a signpost that heralded mayhem and destruction.

As he passed by one of the last prisoners' barracks, a voice suddenly called out from inside.

"_Halt! Was ist los_?"

David stopped and quickly came to attention, snapping his cap off as soon as he saw the Kapo charging outside.

"What are you doing here? Where is your kommando?" the man demanded.

"Sorry, sir. My Kapo…had a job for me, but I don't know where I'm supposed to be."

David stayed absolutely rigid. Being caught unescorted in camp could be seen as trying to escape or evading a work detail. Either crime was punishable by death.

Time stood still as the tall Kapo eyed him from head to toe, the expression on his face giving no indication of what he was thinking. David took note of the red triangle on the man's jacket. This wasn't exactly the best moment to find out how bad the political prisoners treated Jews.

"Come with me," he ordered.

David followed obediently, still not sure whether he was being led to the nearest gallows or back to Martz. They walked for a long time, eventually coming to a section of the camp David had never seen before. After passing through a guarded gate, David was led to one of four large buildings, each similar in appearance. Going inside, another Kapo, this one much shorter and also wearing a red triangle, greeted them.

While the two men talked, David glanced around the interior, completely amazed at what he saw. Everywhere, huge piles of clothing, suitcases, shoes and various other items, menorahs, candlesticks, cookware, all lay in separated heaps. Some piles were so big, that the tops almost reached the ceiling. Obviously, the previous owners of the discarded items had been Jews. Where had all this stuff come from?

"_Ya vohl!_"

David turned his attention back to the second Kapo, as the giant who had brought him in now headed out the door.

"Come, I'll show you what to do," the man said.

.

For the next several hours, David sat beside a mound of clothing and tried to forget about the events that had taken place earlier. Grabbing one garment at a time, he first removed the yellow Star of David and then checked the pockets and seams for any hidden jewels or cash. Surprisingly, he'd already found several diamonds and gold coins, valuables that someone had obviously hidden away for a rainy day. Yet, all he could do was to place his finds to one side in a specifically marked box knowing that eventually the proceeds would end up in the Nazi's hands.

Every so often, David would also uncover treasures carefully secreted in children's clothes, but couldn't dredge up much more than numb disinterest at the discoveries. The previous owners of the clothing were more than likely dead, their young lives tragically cut short. Next to him, other prisoners carried out the same work, sorting through the belongings of murdered Jews. They were all guarded by SS soldiers who watched their every move, making sure every Zloty, Deutschmark, and gold ring went into their respective collection bins.

Although David couldn't see all the prisoners in this kommando, the majority of them appeared to be women. When circumstances allowed, he'd try to steal a look around the building, hoping to find Hannah's face among all the scarf-covered heads. So far, he'd been unsuccessful. He desperately wanted to ask those nearest to him if they knew or had seen her, but talking was strictly forbidden.

In an apathetic mood, he continued with the grim work, trying to keep his mind off of the earlier encounter with Martz. Pulling the next article of clothing off of the pile, David shuddered. Underneath was a royal blue coat—Hannah's. He was sure of it. The buttons, the shape of the pockets; there was no doubt. Delicately, he reached out and touched the woolen fabric. He ran his hand along a sleeve, then picked the coat up and dragged it over to his lap. Multiple emotions erupted in his heart; excitement, worry, terror. _No, she's not dead!_

David tried to corral his expanding fear with logical reasoning. His clothes were probably in here too, along with Papa's and Malinka's. It didn't mean Hannah was dead.

Before he could truly convince himself, the cry from the Kapo summoning everyone to the yard for lunch interrupted his thoughts. Feeling as if he was being physically torn away from her again, David carefully laid the coat back on the pile and sadly rose to leave.

.

Later that evening, David finally met with Jakob again while they were lined up at roll call. Unlike on previous nights, no one had tried to escape or been caught sleeping at work. These crimes were serious enough to warrant being hanged from the gallows. The Nazis made the punishments into big spectacles, stressing the threat of death. All prisoners were forced to watch the gory procedures for two, sometimes even three hours. Today, only a few men had been caught violating some minor regulation and had been sentenced to the most popular of punishments—flogging.

The first shirtless victim was brought to a device that stood in the middle of the roll call square. It resembled the small dining table David had sat at in Skozenka. But unlike Emir's table, the top was made of evenly spaced thin slats that bowed in the center to form a shallow trough. The prisoner stepped up to table's edge, and bent forward across the grooved surface. Two Kapos grabbed the frightened man's wrists, and stretched his arms out tight in front of him as his feet were locked in place by boards that ran in front of and behind his ankles.

An SS man, dressed in the familiar grey uniform, strolled up to the table. A stout wooden stick, almost as long as a cane, dangled from his right hand.

"_Achtung, Juden!_" he announced in a loud voice. "This dog was caught sleeping during the morning roll call. _Das ist verboten!_"

The Nazi scanned over the assembled Jews with a stern face. His broad chin jutted out proudly, and his cheeks were flushed red. His eyes narrowed, and a thin, but a sinister smile appeared below his flaring nostrils. Taking a firm grip on his stick, he turned to face his captive. The first lash came down quick and hard.

The prisoner let out a yelp. Then, as required, he sputtered, "_Eins_."

A second stroke hit with equal strength, and another word slipped out from the prisoner's gritted teeth. "_Zwei_."

A third lash. "_Drei._"

The barbaric punishment continued. Ten strikes later, David could see blood starting to cover the prisoner's buttocks. He'd stopped cringing after each lash, but could still feel the sting of every blow as if he were the victim. And that was clearly what the Germans sought to accomplish. There wasn't just one Jew being beaten on that table, but everyone bearing witness to the grisly scene, too.

When the last strike cleared the inmate's red-striped back, the two Kapos holding his arms lifted him off the table and dumped his limp body onto the ground. A few fellow prisoners were allowed to approach and carry the moaning man away. This particular Jew had been lucky. He knew German well enough to count correctly. David had already seen at least a dozen others who had ended up with twice as many lashes because they couldn't count high enough in German.

For the next half hour, David remained standing as two more helpless prisoners went through the same awful sentence. When the SS man was done doling out Nazi justice, he once again reminded his captive audience that the exact thing would happen to them if rules were not obeyed.

Relieved that he was now dismissed, David joined Jakob and they both hurriedly lined up for their evening meal; a chunk of bread and a half litre of unsweetened tea. David was thankful it wasn't the usual nasty coffee being served. After finding a semi-secluded spot, he and his father sat down to slowly nibble at the meager rations.

"I was worried about you today," Jakob started. "What happened? Why did the Kapo call you?"

David hung his head. There was no way he could ever tell anyone what had taken place in that tiny room, not even his own father.

_Especially_ not his father.

"He just wanted to beat me," David said, telling himself that was the truth, in a sense. "Once he got through, it was too late to come join you."

"Oh, my son..." Jakob's voice trailed off. The pained expression on his face wasn't hard to interpret. "Was it very bad?"

David pinched off another piece of bread from the small lump in his hand.

"No, he just gave me a few bruises." David looked up at his father and knew he couldn't leave it there. "It wasn't bad, Papa, honest." Ready to change the subject, David said, "I think I've found another kommando for us to work in." He watched as Jakob's eyes grew bigger.

"Tell me what you found," Jakob asked, his voice teetering on hope. One thing was for certain; if they kept digging ditches, neither would last until the year's end.

Before divulging the news, David took another sip of the bitter tea. He wasn't sure what Papa would think about the kind of work he'd done today. David's stomach did a small flip-flop, but then quickly settled down.

"On the other side of camp," he began, "there are several large buildings. Inside, are huge piles of clothing, shoes, suitcases. They make us look through them, finding hidden money and other things...rings, diamonds."

"And where does all this come from?" Jakob asked, astonished. "From the people brought here?"

David hung his head. Papa had seen enough to know Jews were being killed by the Nazis, but even he might not believe what David knew was fact.

"No, not just from these people...from other camps. Death camps."

Jakob's eyes burned with confusion. "_Vernichtungslager_? You said 'extermination camps?'"

"Yes," David said, nodding. "Treblinka, Sobibor, Belzec. They are all in Poland. A woman I met today, she's been working here for three months. Nearly every day she sees another trainload of clothing arrive." Pausing, David cleared his throat. "Several of the coats I saw had little holes in them, and were stained with blood."

Jakob gave a slight gasp, his face momentarily frozen in shock.

"I guess your uncle was right," he mumbled, his eyes downcast.

David pinched another piece of bread and stuck it in his mouth. "I found Hannah's coat today," he added flatly.

Jakob's eyes immediately locked onto David's, and for a moment, he seemed to be at a loss for words.

Finally, he said, "What does your heart tell you about her?"

David shook his head. He looked down at the cup in his hands. "I don't know, Papa," he answered, failing miserably to hide the heartbreak in his voice. "If I could just see her, know that she's alive…I could take anything these filthy bastards do to us. But, I just don't know…I just don't know."

David set the tea on the ground and buried his face in his hands. Tears poured out and dripped from his cheeks down into his lap. For the first time he could actually feel his heart tear and the burning pain quickly spread throughout his chest. He hadn't cried like this since losing Isaac and there'd been a lot of hurt building up since then. He felt Jakob's hand settle on his shoulder, but even a father's comforting gesture wasn't enough to ease the anguish this time.

"We're going to die here, aren't we?" David sobbed, with his head still buried. "And all that we've gone through, it's been for _nothing_!"

Papa patted his back. "We must have faith in the Good Lord," he said. "Yahweh always looks after his children."

David's head snapped up. "So where was he today, when the Nazis were beating those men? And the day before, when two more were swinging from the gallows? Where was God then, Papa?"

"We cannot question these things. We must trust that all will work out for the good." Jakob paused and slid his hand over to David's neck. Cupping it, he added, "It makes me sad, when I see you losing your faith. We were never promised an easy life. These hard times, they make us strong, so that we can survive our next trial."

"But don't you see, Papa, we are not surviving, we are _dying_. The Nazis want us _dead_." David took a quick glance around, making sure he wasn't being overheard. "But before that happens, they want to steal our possessions and then squeeze the last bit of breath from our lungs as they work us into the ground!" David drew back. He didn't want to raise his voice at Jakob, or make him the target of his pent up anger. Feeling his emotions drain from him, he bowed his head, exhausted. _What good did it do, to shake his fist at Hitler and his henchmen and expect that it would change anything?_

As if reading his mind, Jakob replied, "Never forget, David, that you are a man. One of Yahweh's greatest miracles. When I look at you, I see a part of His eternal love." Jakob lifted his hand off of David's neck and let it rest on his thigh. "You have a wife and a father…and a son, who love you with all their hearts. You are not a bad person. Even Hitler cannot say that."

David felt his mood lighten. What Jakob had said was beautiful and heartfelt, yet it couldn't erase all of David's frustration and anger. But love, he was discovering, wasn't just the opposite of those other feelings. It had a definition and essence all of its own. Love made him lonely at times, but it also made him feel completely whole and satisfied.

Thinking of Hannah, words from their last intimate conversation crept into his mind, perhaps offering the only comfort right now that could sooth his troubled spirit.

"_If I had to leave you forever, right now, what would I hear you say?"_

"_Nothing. But your heart would hear mine saying, 'I love you.'"_

_._

_._

Chapter 25

.

"_When Jewish blood flows from our__ knives, everything will be well."_

Nazi Party anthem song lyric

.

Kendrick finished walking his last lap around the outside perimeter of the barbed wire fence. So far this evening things had been very quiet in Buchenwald, which was perfectly fine with him. Roll call had ended over an hour ago and the camp's prisoners had been fed their paltry meal of watery soup. Most of them had returned to their barracks, and no doubt gotten prepared for bed by crawling into their shelved cubbyholes.

Kendrick headed to his favorite tree stump and plopped down on the welcome seat. His wounded leg had healed steadily over the past few months, but it still bothered him. Especially on days like today, when a falling barometer matched the slow descent of golden-brown birch leaves that signalled autumn's end. Soon it would be snowing; sure to make his outdoor foot patrols much less inviting.

Generally, Kendrick didn't mind patrolling. He was usually accompanied by another guard, but his partner had fallen ill with a bad cold the night before. However, Kendrick was far from alone. Large watchtowers, each manned by half a dozen soldiers, dotted the camp's perimeter. Together with regularly placed bright lamps, there wasn't a single foot of unobserved or unlit ground for a hundred yards beyond the wire fence.

Prompted by a slight chill, Kendrick glanced at his watch, relieved to see his shift would be over in fifteen minutes. He took a deep breath, and steadied himself as he stood back up. Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, he headed towards the nearest gate.

Once back in his dorm room, Kendrick ignored the men milling around and quickly shed his heavy uniform and boots. He changed into more comfortable clothing and settled down on his bed, but not before selecting something from the 'library', a small collection of books and magazines brought from home by fellow guards. Grudgingly, he passed on a copy of _Geist und Schönheit,_ with its picture of a nude female on the cover**, **and eyed two other books. Choosing _Polizeireiter in Polen_ over _Die Blanken Waffen der Polizei_**,** Kendrick hoped horse troopers would make for more stimulating reading than police daggers and bayonets.

"Kendrick, _vas ist los_?"

Silently, Kendrick groaned. The last thing he wanted to do tonight was get involved in a poker game, and that's exactly what Private Brenner was going to ask him.

"Not tonight, Karl," Kendrick answered, refusing to put his book down. "You won plenty from me last night, and payday is still a week away. Go find yourself another sucker."

Karl's irritating chuckle could be heard above the other men's laughter in the room. Suddenly, Kendrick's book was slapped out of his hands.

"Hey!" he cried, staring at Karl' face. "I was reading that!"

"Oh, look! The blond blintz is crying!" Karl taunted.

Kendrick muttered under his breath. How Karl had come up with such a pretentious nickname was a mystery, but Kendrick truly abhorred the title. Before he could formulate a worthy comeback, Karl beat him to the punch.

"I've heard you know all about our new sergeant. Does that mean you're first in line to be his bum boy when he gets here?"

"What the hell are you talking about, Karl?"

The private smiled slyly. "Word has it, the man hates privates and corporals just as much as he does the Jews. Apparently, he's been flirting with Himmler himself in order to get his lieutenant's bars."

Several heads in the room nodded in agreement. Kendrick didn't like that everyone was staring at him, clearly focused on the conversation taking place.

"I'm not in the mood for playing games tonight," he grumbled in a low voice, hoping Karl would get the message. Kendrick picked up the book and flipped it back open, trying to find his last spot. But his interest in reading had been replaced by a different curiosity. Just who was Brenner talking about? Not surprisingly, his roommate didn't keep him waiting long.

"Kendrick, listen to me." A set of fingertips appeared on the top edge of his page. "You know how it is with these new sergeants," Karl said, as he pushed the book down. "They eat us for breakfast while sticking their noses and dicks into any officer's arse. All we're asking for is a little information," he added, gesturing towards the other men in the room.

Figuring he had nothing to lose, Kendrick sat up on the bed. "What's his name?" he asked flatly.

"Mueller," Karl replied. "Erick Mueller."

Kendrick's gut did a flip-flop. His old classmate from the academy. _And he's a master sergeant now...wunderbar._ A few brief memories of the former cadet entered Kendrick's mind. Brenner was probably right. If Mueller hated low ranking soldiers as much as he hated Jews, the entire barrack was in for a miserable tour of duty.

"When is he supposed to arrive?" Kendrick asked.

"Heinz said day after tomorrow." Karl stared at him, his eyes begging for information. "So, what should we expect?" he asked.

"My advice would be never to forget to call him 'sergeant.'" Kendrick thought for a moment. "And make sure you do _anything_ he tells you."

* * *

David sat on the cool ground and watched Papa finish his soup. Soon, they'd be hearing the dreaded summons to go back to work. Both had gotten skinnier since summer, but they were still relatively healthy, at least by concentration camp standards. With winter fast approaching, David felt relieved they would be working indoors. Sorting through dead Jews' clothing and possessions wasn't the best work, but it sure beat heavy labor digging ditches. Over the past few months, David had seen more and more of their old kommando carried back to camp as corpses from their work detail. Had they not been able to escape that assignment, David was certain either he, or Papa, or the both of them, would have been dead right now.

Jakob uttered a satisfied slurp. "The soup wasn't too bad today," he remarked. "I think mine even had a piece of turnip in it."

David forced a smile at him. Sure the little colored lumps floating in the murky liquid might be vegetables, but he'd given up on trying to guess what was being thrown into their meals—and that wasn't the only thing.

A month ago, he'd watched as Jakob and other men in the barrack quietly celebrated Rosh Hashanah, repenting their sins and proclaiming God to be their supreme King. That same day, at roll call, David had also watched how the Nazis celebrated the Jewish holiday—by hanging twenty men picked at random. Ten days later, twenty more Jews were hung for Yom Kippur. David didn't doubt in God's existence, he just didn't believe anymore that the Jews were Yahweh's chosen people. Sometimes he'd wonder which man was responsible for turning God against them and making Hitler hate them so much. But even if he learned who had committed such a transgression, what difference would it make? They were all destined to die; the only question was when and how?

Two birds flew overhead, drawing David's attention to their wavering flight. He often gazed at the winged creatures, marvelling at their freedom to go wherever and whenever they wanted. _How wonderful that would be._ He continued to watch as they flew over one of the barbed wire fences into an adjoining compound, and then oddly hovered in the air before continuing on.

At that moment, behind the fence in the other yard, a small group of female prisoners walked by, apparently heading back to work. David casually eyed each one, more out of habit than with the purpose of seeing if Hannah could be among them. Faced with failure so many times, David was having a hard time keeping his hopes up of ever seeing her again. Maybe one day, if Germany lost the war, he would find her, but with each passing hour, week and month, he felt his chances growing slimmer and slimmer.

David had almost gotten to the last one when he spotted a familiar figure. Wearing a long sleeved dress and a white headscarf, he knew it was her. And that walk. David could recognize that unique stride from a kilometre away. With excitement shooting through him, he sprang up and trotted toward the electrified fence, purposely ignoring Jakob's calls to stop.

"Hannah! _Hannah_!"

David barely stopped just short of no man's land, the invisible barrier on either side of the actual fence. Any prisoner entering it would be committing suicide as the guards never asked first, they just shot to kill.

Hannah stopped and looked in his direction. Her surprise was priceless. She shoved two other women aside and ran towards the fence. After stopping at the same distance David had, she stared at him, emotions running wild across her face.

"Are you alright?" David asked, only one of hundreds of questions he'd thought of in the last few seconds.

"Yes, I'm well, my love," she answered, folding her arms across her stomach. "I've been looking for you..." Hannah's head dipped, then rose again, tears spilling from her eyes. "Oh, how I've missed you," she cried.

David swallowed hard, cursing the thin wires that kept them separated. It was killing him to stand here, knowing that redemption, his reason for living, was just a few steps away.

"David!"

The urgency of Papa's voice distracted him from Hannah. Jakob was hurrying towards him, but he wasn't the only one. Martz was also coming at full steam.

David turned back to Hannah. He couldn't believe their time was almost over, again! Anxious and frustrated, he wracked his brain to find something appropriate to say, but words eluded him. Left with no other choice, he let his heart speak. Hannah must have heard. She smiled gently and stepped back to join the other women. He held eye contact with her as long as he dared, then sadly turned away.

"Son," Jakob gasped, tugging at his arm. "Let's go."

Papa pulled at him, but David caught sight of Martz right beside him with his whip raised. He stopped cold. For an instant, the dreaded object hovered above the kapo's head, then came down with blinding force—right across Jakob's face. The painful cry from Papa seared right through David's heart.

"You sons of bitches! What are you doing?" Martz cursed, out of breath.

Horrified, David stood and watched as the Kapo landed a second blow, then several more, forcing Jakob to the ground. A massive battle erupted in his conscience. Part of him wanted to reach out and grab the bastard's neck, then snatch the whip out of his hand and use it to strangle the life out of him. David knew he couldn't intervene, for doing so would mean certain death. But when Jakob began to moan pitifully, David couldn't keep still anymore.

"Stop hitting him! It was my fault!" he screamed, taking a step forward and locking eyes with his father's attacker.

Martz stopped and returned David's stare with an icy one of his own. David inched forward, still not sure whether he wanted to get to Martz first or Papa. With indecision and revenge raging on in his head, David knew this was his last chance—any second now he'd be getting the same punishment.

The sound of a rifle round being chambered immediately drew his attention. Off to the side, a guard had David dead in his sights. Completely powerless to do anything, David held his breath and waited for death to strike.

"What's your number, Jew?" Martz growled at Papa, standing over the fallen man.

Curled on the ground, Jakob weakly answered, "20147." With one bloody arm cradling his stomach and the other covering his head, Papa looked like a helpless child.

The Kapo pulled his foot back and kicked Jakob hard in the back. Apparently unsatisfied, he kicked him twice more with the other foot. Martz straightened and glared at David.

"All right you pigs!" he spat between heavy breaths. "Lunch is over." Glaring at the other prisoners gathered nearby, Martz hollered, "Fall in line, all of you! Back to work!"

David saw the soldier lower his rifle. He took a steadying breath, releasing some of his fear, and knelt down at Papa's side.

"I'm fine, my son, I'm fine," Jakob told him, pushing David's helping hand away as he got back on his feet. Standing shakily, he brushed the dirt off of his filthy uniform. David looked at the seeping red welts on his father's arms and wondered if he was even feeling the worst of the pain yet. Jakob took a tentative step forward and cringed.

Before David could offer help again, Papa asked evenly, "Was that Hannah?"

Stunned, David struggled to remember the all-too-brief encounter with his wife that felt as if it had taken place days ago.

"Yes, Papa. It was her."

He kept a supporting hand at Jakob's elbow as they joined their kommando to head back to the storage buildings. While Papa struggled to keep his balance with each step, David teetered back and forth between the elation of seeing Hannah to the horror of watching his father become the target of Martz's wrath. Although David didn't know why the kapo hadn't hit him, he was sure Papa's punishment had signalled an end to the incident at the fence.

.

At evening roll call, David and Jakob stood with the rest of their barrack, waiting for dismissal so they could go soothe their hungry bellies with a few bites of bread. Papa seemed to be better, but until the man had a chance to eat and lie down, David wouldn't know for sure how Jakob felt.

Suddenly, Martz's voice echoed through the grounds.

"20147!"

David's head snapped up as he looked over at Papa. Jakob stepped out from his position in line. He glanced at David as he walked by, a mixture of uncertainty and bridled fear on his face. Horrified, David watched two kapos seize Jakob and escort him to the back of the flogging table.

_Oh no, not that__! _

Martz announced the reason for the punishment, but David didn't hear a word. He was too busy concentrating on Jakob, wishing he was standing there in his place. It was David's fault, that Papa was being manhandled and having his shirt ripped off. Forcing his emotions down as far as he could, David watched helplessly while his father's wrists were grabbed and he was stretched out on the wooden table.

Martz stood behind the bound man with a malicious grin on his face, holding the whip at his side. The first strike ripped across Papa's naked back, causing David to bite his tongue so he wouldn't yell.

Grimacing, Jakob grunted, "Eins."

Martz brought the whip came down a second time. Then a third.

David felt his emotional barriers crumble. His stomach twisted with rage and tears welled in his eyes. Martz swung the whip again, and Jakob flinched in agony.

David wanted to reach out, offer his body instead, but there was nothing he could do to keep the brutal lashes from tearing across Papa's skin. By the time Martz reached the twentieth lash, David was a complete wreck. Sweat poured down his back and face and his heart felt completely shattered.

When Martz finally stepped away, David bolted from his spot, running over to be at Jakob's side before anyone could stop him. After getting the tortured man to his feet, David glanced briefly at Martz. The bastard was smiling smugly. David instantly understood why Jakob had been singled out. Martz hadn't forgotten about their past private encounter. Papa was torn and bloodied simply because David had failed as a suitable sex slave.

David knew then that he could take another man's life, even though it would certainly cost him his own. But the Nazis wouldn't stop with just one dead Jew. Jakob would also be killed, along with a dozen or more innocent prisoners. For that reason alone, David held his anger and stuffed it down deep in his gut. God willing, there would come a day when he could seek out justice, but Papa needed him now. He wondered if Martz had any idea that his life, like David's, was hanging by a thread.

* * *

Kendrick stood at attention, waiting with the rest of his bunkmates to be inspected by their new commander, Sergeant Major Erick Mueller. His academy classmate hadn't changed much since Kendrick had seen him last. The perfect example of an Aryan poster boy, Mueller's blond hair and blue eyes highlighted his well-chiselled good looks. When Kendrick had been promoted to corporal, Erick had been one of the first students he'd shared the good news with. Thinking about that day, Kendrick suspected Erick hadn't been all that happy for him. Mueller's comment about 'getting respect eventually' didn't seem to mean much back then. But now, preparing to experience being the subordinate rather than the superior, Kendrick easily understood the implication.

"Kendrick! _Wie geht es Ihnen_?" Erick stopped, looking genuinely surprised.

"I'm fine, _Sturmscharführer_."

Mueller examined him from head to toe. His eyes eventually settled on the small collection of badges pinned on Kendrick's chest.

"I see you've earned a _Verwundetenabzeichen," _he casually noted, but with a touch of envy in his voice. "And a _Gefrierfleisch-Orden…_I take it your wound was not that serious?"

Kendrick felt his face flush, uncomfortable at hearing the decoration belittled as a 'frozen meat badge'. He did his own quick inspection of Mueller's medals. Not surprisingly, there was no insignia indicating he'd ever spent a moment on a battlefield, much less on the frigid eastern front fighting tough and hardened Russians.

"Only serious enough that I could not stay with my _Einsatzgruppen_ unit," Kendrick said proudly, for once pleased instead of ashamed at the admittance. And the inference wasn't lost on Mueller. His eyebrows twitched upward.

"Ah, well, I see we have a lot of catching up to do, then. You'll have to join me for dinner tonight—unless, you have other plans."

"Of course, _Sturmscharführer_."

Mueller's offer was definitely an invitation Kendrick couldn't turn down.

A few hours later, Kendrick leaned back from the modest table in Mueller's private quarters, his stomach full of sausage and potatoes. Surprisingly, dinner had gone well, accompanied by curt, but pleasant, conversation and good wine. For the first time since entering the sergeant's domain, Kendrick carefully noted how it was decorated. Although the place was spacious, with a separate bedroom, the furnishings were very spartan. There also didn't seem to be much displayed as far as personal effects. No family pictures or mementos, nothing even hinting at a trace of a personal life, but military items abounded. A small bust of Hitler sat on Mueller's desk, along with about half a dozen SS military books. On the wall across from the table hung a large framed portrait of the Fuhrer with an eerily omnipresent stare. Kendrick found the photo oddly similar to the Mona Lisa.

"Care for a cigar?" Mueller asked, reaching inside of his uniform jacket. He pulled out two thin cigars, and offered one to Kendrick.

"_Danke_," he said, genuinely happy to receive such a rarity.

Erick lit Kendrick's first. Kendrick lovingly nursed the first few puffs with as much restraint as he could muster. The strong but sweet aroma lingered in his mouth and lungs, and he savored the fine flavor after exhaling the smoke.

"So, you were a member of the _Einsatzgruppen_," Erick remarked, finishing a long drag of his cigar. "Which unit did you belong to?"

"Group B."

"Ah…that's _Gruppenführer_ Arthur Nebe's command, isn't it?"

Kendrick nodded, not really wanting to delve too deep into this particular topic. However, he was a guest, and in his best interest to be a gracious one.

"I met him several months ago in Berlin—interesting fellow," Mueller added. His eyes locked onto Kendrick's, perhaps looking for a reaction. "You know, with that large beak of his, I wouldn't be surprised to learn he has some Jewish blood running through him."

Feeling uneasy, Kendrick took another drag from his cigar. He'd learned long ago to always think before speaking—especially when talk centered on gossip involving military higher-ups.

"I've never heard anyone claim such a thing," Kendrick ventured, "but then, generals like him don't visit the front lines very much. At least, I hardly ever saw one."

Mueller leaned forward and picked up his wine glass. He swirled the contents around, then took a healthy sip. "Well, from what I hear, he's been very 'soft'," Mueller countered. "Especially with the Jewish question."

"How's that?" he uttered, barely able to keep his voice level.

Erick set his glass back on the table. For a long moment, he seemed to fixate on Kendrick, his blue eyes burning with an intensely curious stare. "There've been some accusations," he finally said, "falsifications of the actual numbers of Communists and partisans killed in the Ukraine. Seems the old man has a weak stomach when it comes to following orders, even those from Himmler, and the Fuhrer himself."

Kendrick felt his throat tighten. Is that who Mueller really believed they were exterminating in Russia? Communists and partisans? How could even a halfwit consider an infant sucking his mother's breast to be a subversive capable of threatening the Third Reich?

"I wouldn't know anything about that," he said evasively, tugging at his shirt collar. "Every village we came across, we made sure all the _Communists_ and _partisans_ were dealt with."

Mueller's lips tugged upwards, producing a sly, if not sinister, smile. "So, Kendrick...you are still a corporal," he noted, abruptly changing the subject. "Is that where you prefer to be? I would have thought for someone who graduated so high in our class, you'd at least be a lieutenant by now, yes?"

The hairs on back of Kendrick's neck bristled. This was the real reason he'd been invited for dinner, so Mueller could demean him and boost his own already inflated ego. Obviously, the man knew nothing about being a soldier. That took dedication to duty, putting others before yourself, and, oh yes, spending a little time on the battlefield dodging enemy bullets. The only military exploit Mueller had ever accomplished was finding the right superior to impress with his overzealous commitment to fascism. That, and an innate ability to perform as a show puppet of Hitler's.

Knowing it was crucial to provide his host with a believable answer, Kendrick launched the only one he could at the moment.

"I've found that the best way to avoid being in the wrong place when shit hits the fan is to be behind all of those who are in charge."

Mueller exploded with laughter.

"Ah!" he cried with happiness, "That is the Kendrick I admire!" He reached for his napkin, and dabbed at the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Setting the cloth down, he picked up the wine bottle and filled Kendrick's glass full again. After adding more to his own, he raised it up.

"To the SS! _Meine Ehre heißt Treue_!" Erick toasted.

Kendrick lifted his glass, and hoped the insincerity in his heart wouldn't come out in his voice.

"My Honor is Loyalty," he repeated.

* * *

David ripped open the hem on the pair of trousers he was holding. He glanced over to check on Papa, making sure he was still doing all right. Winter was almost over, and even though it had been fairly mild, many prisoners had succumbed to illness and malnutrition. Jakob had a hard time recovering from Martz's beating. Many times, David had wanted to take him to the camp hospital. But other prisoners had convinced him not to, saying a trip there was no different than one to the crematorium.

So he looked after Papa as best as he could. Using his bread rations, David traded for a piece of clean cloth here, or a cup of water there. Once, he'd even miraculously gotten hold of a tiny aspirin pill. But David's weight had plummeted with so little to eat. Bread was an important commodity in the camp—both nutritionally and monetarily. Other than the moldy bits of potatoes or turnips in the watery soup, bread was the only substantial thing he got to eat. However, his sacrifices had been worth the effort, because Papa had eventually recovered. Still, there were days when the cold weather attacked his lungs, and Jakob would cough and hack as though he were drowning in a deep pool.

Just recently, one of those days had fallen during a _selektion_. Like most, it had come with virtually no warning. Right after roll call, the order had been given to strip. Column by column, David and the rest of the prisoners were forced to run barefoot in the snow, back and forth past a small group of SS officers and men wearing long white coats; doctors, apparently. When finished, the naked inmates were either motioned to the right or left. After the last man was inspected, one group was allowed to dress, the others were marched away, their clothes piled on the ground and unclaimed. An hour later, David had heard the faint echo of rifle fire from the forest. It wasn't hard to figure out what had happened—the Germans had no use for prisoners who couldn't work.

Besides the Reich's lust for Jewish blood, the only other thing that thrived from the selections was the crematorium. More than ever before, smoke poured out thick and heavy from its tall chimney. The camp was continually bathed in the sweet, but sickly odor of burning flesh along with a fine layer of silky ash. Yet for every Jew who died, someone else always arrived to take his place. To David, this signified only one thing. Working meant survival, and each day that passed was one day closer to when he might see Hannah again.

Tossing the pair of pants he'd finished with in another pile, David grabbed another garment from his mount of unchecked clothing. He laid the jacket on his lap, but before he started to check for hidden valuables, something about the jacket tugged at his memory. He held it up, trying to remember the person who'd worn it before. Not recalling the face, David felt around in the pockets. Inside the front one, was a sheet of folded paper. He opened the flyer up, and began reading the crudely typed words.

.

**To the Jewish Masses in the Ghetto -**

**On January 22, 1943, six months will have passed since the deportations from Warsaw began. We all remember well the days of terror during which 300,000 of our brothers and sisters were cruelly put to death in the death camp of Treblinka. Six months have passed of life in constant fear of death, not knowing what the next day may bring. We have received information from all sides about the destruction of the Jews in the Government-General, in Germany, and in the occupied territories.**

**When we listen to this bitter news we wait for our own hour to come, every day and every moment. Today we must understand that the Nazi murderers have let us live only because they want to make use of our capacity to work to our last drop of blood and sweat, to our last breath. We are slaves. And when the slaves are no longer profitable, they are killed. Every one among us must understand that, and every one among us must remember it always****…**

**.  
**

Instantly, David knew who the owner had been. Zalman Frydrych, the man from the underground resistance movement who'd almost succeeded in convincing David to join them. He had worn this coat in the ghetto, and the wrinkled call-to-arms page his copy of Jewish history. Zalman had been right about what was happening at Treblinka, so deadly right.

David glanced around the room, making sure he wasn't being watched too closely. He quickly reread the note, letting each word sink into his conscience. He wished he could hold onto the document and save this one small token of a people's cry for justice. But keeping something like this, and being caught, would bring instant death.

With a heavy heart, he ripped the note into tiny pieces, making sure they were scattered in different places. At least some Jews, like him, had survived the initial deportations to the death camp. Whether that would eventually prove to have just lengthened their suffering was anyone's guess. For now, David could only hope Zalman had died fighting, and not suffocated to death in some gas chamber.

Instinctively, David bowed his head and was surprised to find himself wanting to pray. He recited the Kaddish in silence, and felt pleased this was one thing he could do for a fallen hero.

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 26

.

A jerk of the train woke Kendrick from his nap.

He squinted his eyes, and let them slowly adjust to the bright sunlight pouring in from outside. The rays felt nice and warm on his face, and the breeze blowing in smelled like freshly mowed hay. Opening his eyes wider, he glanced out the window, where bright green fields on low, rolling hills stretched off to the horizon, crisscrossed here and there with thin rows of Poplar trees. Farmhouses dotted the landscape, accompanied by milk cows grazing lazily nearby. Kendrick wondered if he was getting close to Munich, where a two week furlough awaited.

It had been a long spring.

For the last two months, he'd been counting the days until his vacation. He'd also seen Buchenwald for the last time, as his request to transfer to another concentration camp had finally been approved.

Kendrick was looking forward to working at Dachau, except perhaps, for something Mueller had mentioned about the place. According to the sergeant, the SS ran a training program there for Schutzstaffel guards, a sort of 'school of violence,' which emphasized ways to weaken prisoners physically and psychologically. The result, as Mueller put it, left the deserving Jews 'beaten and broken', ready to serve their masters as slaves for as long as Germany saw fit.

Kendrick didn't know if he would have to attend such training, but that certainly wasn't the reason he was heading there. He wanted to be closer to home. Kendrick hadn't seen his parents in over two years and, though he hated to admit it, he'd been suffering from a strong case of homesickness for a long time.

Sadly, he knew returning to his hometown wouldn't cure the loneliness he'd been feeling. Having lost Willy and, most likely, David, too, Kendrick missed the company of a good friend. During his last visit home, he'd even gone to see David's old apartment, although he wasn't sure why. Maybe he was just trying to reconnect with something tangible linked to his old friend. Regardless, the special trip had accomplished nothing. Other than some newly renovated stores, the area and apartment building hadn't changed except for the absence of any Jewish inhabitants. To Kendrick, the neighborhood looked abandoned and lost, as if the streets and homes missed their old occupants.

This time, he had no plans to revisit that part of town. For once, he was looking forward to being pampered by his mother, and eating every single homemade meal he could coax her into cooking. Perhaps most of all, he savored the thought of sleeping in his own bed again. The simple acts of undressing in private, using the washroom and going to bed in a vacant room had become practically foreign to him.

With a smile on his face, Kendrick leaned back in the cushioned seat and closed his eyes, hoping to get a few more winks of sleep. This felt good. Every single bit of it. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd felt so content.

* * *

A jerk of the train woke David from a deep, exhausted sleep.

He'd been traveling in the packed railcar forever, or maybe it had only been a few hours. Frankly, he was too tired and sick to care. He lifted his head and noticed Jakob was still slumped beside him. Papa's eyes were barely open and his face covered with a wet sheen. His unbuttoned shirt revealed ash-colored skin and very prominent collarbones. David watched Jakob's chest rise and fall, and leaned back wearily against the wooden wall.

It had been a long spring.

Soon after finding the ghetto note, David's world had unexpectedly changed for the better. Martz had been killed—not at the hands of either himself or another prisoner, but during a drinking party with fellow functionaries. A vicious fight had broken out, apparently over who owned the rights to a young teenaged prisoner. Martz's head had been bashed in and two other kapos suffered broken bones. The survivors never made it to the hospital. Everyone who'd been present at the party was shot the following morning.

But the good fortune didn't last. The following week, David's whole barrack, along with four others, had been thrown on a train and transported to another labor camp near Krakow. Plaszow wasn't as large as Majdanek, but the work there was harder than anything David had ever done before. He and Papa had been assigned to the local stone quarry and spent twelve hour days breaking up rocks and hauling the heavy stones away.

Walking into Plaszow for the first time, David had been shocked to see the main road was paved with Jewish gravestones. Apparently, the camp had been built over a Jewish cemetery and the Germans didn't want the tombstones to go to waste. Once he got inside, the heartbreaking scene of women and children performing hard labor had left David feeling relieved that Hannah was back in Majdanek. But that hadn't made their separation any easier to bear. Now, stuck on another train heading to yet another unknown destination, David feared he'd never see Hannah again.

He took in a deep breath and cringed at the stench. The stifling hot air reeked of sweaty, unclean bodies and defecation. Its potent smell dug into David's sinuses, burning his nostrils before plunging down to his stomach, making the queasy organ even more unsettled. Despite his pathetic situation, David's sole desire was for a mouthful of water, anything to quell the scorching dryness in his mouth.

A moan interrupted David's thoughts.

"I'm here, Papa. I'm here," he whispered in Jakob's ear. His parched and dry throat made it hard to talk in a normal tone.

"_Zuninkeh_, is that you?" Papa muttered. David placed a hand on his forehead. It felt unbelievably hot.

"Yes, Papa." David took hold of Jakob's hand and squeezed.

Papa's tired eyelids cracked open. At first, his gaze was dull and unfocused, but soon the deep blue eyes cleared.

"Where are we?" Jakob asked.

David bowed his head. "I don't know."

The railcar shifted hard to one side and then back the other way. The movement caused someone sitting by Jakob to lean over, practically falling on him. David didn't have the strength to either yell or try to push the nearly comatose man off. Thankfully, the train rocked again, tipping him away and onto another unfortunate prisoner. But the train's jarring motion wasn't helping ease the nausea in David's stomach. All he could do for relief was lean back and close his eyes, hoping the miserable ride would end soon. He wondered if hell was like the dark interior of a boxcar, traveling nonstop for all eternity.

"David?" Jakob moaned softly.

"Yes, Papa?"

"Talk to me, son," he pleaded.

David swallowed hard, he had so little saliva left. _Why was Papa asking that?_ What was there to talk about anyway? The weather? Their first class accommodations?

"I'm tired, Papa."

A flash of shame raced through David. Jakob was probably sick with typhus, a disease that usually killed within a week. What if they were sharing their last days together? Perhaps even their last hours? All Papa was asking for was just a few words…

"If I die," he continued, "will you say Kaddish for me?"

David opened his eyes wider, surprised at the sudden clarity of Jakob's voice. "Papa, don't be foolish."

Jakob's head dipped and he fell silent. Slowly his chest rose, quickly fell, then rose again. Satisfied with the continued rhythm, David let his head rest lightly against Papa's. Maybe this was how their lives would finally end, for Death was here in this cramped boxcar. Its presence hung heavy in the stagnant air and moved back and forth out of each man's mouth, waiting for the last gasp—patient as always.

Strangely, David felt nothing. The pain in his aching body seemed to have lifted. He glanced one last time around the darkened interior, his last home on earth. Half-lit profiles of skinny, hollowed faces greeted him, spotlighted ever so slightly by thin slivers of sunlight breaking through the slated planks. Shafts of heaven's light, he thought, trying to pierce into this condemned abyss. But even these celestial spears wouldn't be powerful enough to overcome the ubiquitous darkness that ruled here.

Another wave of queasiness hit, but this one felt much different. Inside the boxcar, everything seemed to take on an odd glow, as if it had suddenly gotten foggy. David rolled his heavy eyes and looked at Papa again. Despite blinking several times, he couldn't tell whether Jakob was breathing or not. If Papa was gone, then there was no reason to hang on. Quietly, David convinced his soul to let go.

_Soon, Hannah. Soon. I'll finally be with you. Forever._

* * *

"_Sturmmann_ Hutchinson, welcome to Dachau!"

Staff Sergeant Lyndorf grabbed Kendrick's hand and shook it firmly. "I trust you had an enjoyable furlough?"

"Yes, _Scharführer._ It was very…relaxing."

Kendrick worked at hiding his smirk. He'd never fucked so much in all of his life. From the moment he'd arrived in Munich, he had a beer mug in one hand and a fraulein cradled in the other. By the time he left to travel home, he'd screwed at least six women. Not ready to give his dick a break, he had visited nearly every _hofbräuhaus_ within a three kilometer radius from his parent's apartment, indulging in copious amounts of both beer and sex. The nonstop action had all been worth it; Kendrick finally felt human again.

"_Das gute_!" Lyndorf said, slapping him on the back. "Here, let me show you to your quarters."

Kendrick followed the man from his office in the administration building, outside. Passing by several flower beds and a few large oak trees, they came to a long section of electrified wire fencing that separated the green, manicured lawns and packed gravel walkways from the desert of the prisoners' home on the other side. Kendrick's good mood instantly soured as he studied the pathetic figures shuffling around on the dusty, sand-colored grounds just a few yards away.

Trying to ignore both the accompanying stench and Lyndorf's chatter, Kendrick slowed his pace to focus on one particular inmate. The man was hanging by his wrists from a large post, his body stiffly bent over as both arms were tied behind his back. His shaven head was bowed, but it wasn't hard to imagine the look of anguish on his face. The pain in his shoulders had to be excruciating.

"_Scharführer_, what is happening with that prisoner?" Kendrick asked, coming to a stop by the fence.

Lyndorf paused, and walked over to join him. At first he looked blankly out into the yard, as if the sight that was so appalling to Kendrick didn't even exist. Then the sergeant straightened, jutting his ample midsection forward.

"Ah, that is a form of punishment we find very effective."

Kendrick glanced at his superior, before looking back at the poor victim.

"How long do you leave them hanging there like that?" Kendrick's stomach was starting to turn. None of the other prisoners seemed affected by one of their own dangling with his feet off the ground, his lean body twitching in torment.

"What does it matter, _Sturmmann_? That prisoner is a Jew. Subhuman. They have no feelings for anyone but themselves; they deserve none from us."

Kendrick looked closer at the figures in the yard in their dirty striped clothing. Maybe these were different Jews—Poles or Russians perhaps, not German Jews. David would never let himself become so degraded, so...filthy.

"Are all the Jewish races the same, _Scharführer_?" Kendrick asked. "I mean, the ones with German blood, are they not better in some way?"

Lyndorf huffed. He clasped both hands behind his back as he continued to stare out into the compound.

"Always remember this, corporal," he remarked. "As SS men, we must be honest, decent, and loyal to members of our own blood—no one else. What happens to these _untermenschen_ is of no consequence. Those nations with good German blood, we will acquire them, perhaps even take their children and raise them ourselves." The sergeant paused, and turned to Kendrick. "But I assure you, that will never happen with the Jews."

* * *

The railcar lurched forward and abruptly stopped. David clumsily reached up to rub the back of his head where it had hit the wall behind him. Other prisoners seated nearby started to stir, their tired eyes staring blankly at nothing. David turned to check on Jakob.

"Papa? Are you awake?"

Jakob's eyes slowly settled onto David. "Where are we?"

David looked up at one of the window openings. It was still daylight, but the color of the sky indicated that dusk wasn't too far away. Outside, he could hear the faint sound of German voices and whining dogs—it wasn't hard to figure what that meant.

"Come, Papa. Let me help you up."

David's intuition quickly proved true. There was a metal scraping sound of a bolt being drawn and then, with a rumble, the door opened.

"_Raus! Raus!_ _Mach schnell_!"

Numbly, David followed the others as they climbed down from the railcar. As usual, the SS guards formed a short corridor on both sides, barely keeping their dogs restrained from biting the limbs of the Jews passing by.

"Here! Form ranks of fives! Now, you dogs!"

David pressed Jakob into one of the quickly forming lines, surprised at the way they could move so nimbly all at once. Perhaps there was something about a vicious dog's fangs that got blood and muscles moving faster than should have been possible.

While waiting for the last few stragglers to fall in, David scanned the surrounding countryside. There weren't any buildings nearby—odd for a train station—just a narrow dirt road in front of him that disappeared into a field of tall grass. Off in the hazy distance, was a rather long and narrow building capped with a steep-pitched roof. An entryway tunneled right through the center of the structure with another slightly smaller opening just to the left. A large guard tower stood over the main entrance, ringed with windows and topped with an oversized spotlight. The building and high tower reminded David of the front facade from an ancient fortress. _Was he looking at their next camp?_

Unlike previous disembarkations, none of the Germans seemed to be in a hurry to start marching the prisoners towards their new home. The more David watched a pair of officers strolling back and forth on the gravel platform, the more apprehensive he felt. Maybe it was the way they'd peer at the prisoners, study them from head to toe, then turn away to talk amongst themselves. Naturally, he and Jakob stayed motionless and quiet. Their fates were out of their control.

After what seemed like half an hour, a German staff car arrived, a column of dust trailing behind the sleek, black Mercedes-Benz. The driver stopped the car just a few meters from where David stood. Two guards standing nearby immediately came to attention, saluting 'Heil Hitler' to the uniformed officer getting out of the passenger seat.

Ignoring the greeting, the man briskly headed towards the pair of officers. "Sergeant!" he hollered, "Why are these Jews still standing here?"

"I'm sorry, _Hauptmann_ Schmidt. But the crematoria in Birkenau are all shut down."

"Shut down? All four?"

"_Jawohl_! The linings in two of the chimneys have overheated and become damaged. They can't be used until they are repaired. The other two are…" The sergeant hesitated then wearily eyed the prisoners nearest to him. "There was a very large transport that arrived shortly before this one, _mein Herr_."

"_Scheisse_!" Schmidt turned and glanced disgustedly at David and the others. "Well, the one in Auschwitz is too small to handle all of these rats." He snapped off his hat and stuck it under one arm. Stomping his foot on the ground, he looked over towards the long building David had seen in the distance. The man shook his head, and placed his hat back on.

"Well, we have no choice. Take them to the main camp and have everyone go through quarantine. Don't bother to register them tonight." Schmidt stopped and took another long look at the assembled Jews. "Go ahead and give them the evening ration…maybe a few might be salvageable."

"Yes, sir! Right away!"

David watched the two men salute each other. Schmidt returned to his staff car and stepped inside. The car turned around and speeded back the way it had come.

"Jews! Face right and march! Quickly!"

David and Jakob followed the sergeant's order and began walking in the direction that Schmidt's car had gone.

"Son, what was he talking about?" Jakob asked weakly. "What do the crematoria have to do with us?"

"I don't know. Maybe that's where we were supposed to go and work."

"I thought I heard him say something about food, yes?"

David sighed. His stomach had to be as empty as Jakob's, but until he held a chunk of bread in his hand, he couldn't believe anything the Nazis said. "I hope so," he answered. "You need something to eat, Papa."

"Yes, yes. If Yahweh wills it, we will have food tonight."

* * *

Kendrick placed the last of his folded clothing into his designated dresser drawer. Breathing a sigh of relief, he slid the emptied duffle bag underneath his bed, then sat down on the firm mattress to untie his shoes. After freeing his tired feet from the heavy boots, he lay down on the bed. He paused to prop a pillow behind his head before leaning against the metal-railed headboard.

He tossed an arm over his forehead and closed his eyes. Soon, it would be time for bed and he'd be going to sleep in a room full of men—definitely not the best circumstances to try and please his very lonely and needy dick. Memories of two lovely frauleins rolled in, a blond one with a lusciously soft bosom, in particular. Kendrick let the remembrance tease and tickle his mind until the stimulation started to reach down to his groin. His eyes shot open. He was almost too petrified to see if little Kenny was standing at attention. Thank goodness, the pint-sized soldier hadn't saluted yet.

Trying to pull his mind away from sex, Kendrick turned to give the dorm room a good inspection. It was pretty unremarkable, a large room with about a dozen beds, half a dozen lockers and dressers, and two large desks. On one wall was a wooden rack that held the guard's rifles, and beside that was a bookcase with the usual assortment of hardbacks and magazines.

Suddenly, two of Kendrick's roommates came running into the dorm, apparently engaged in a boyish game of tag. Both looked as though they'd just come out of the shower, clad only in towels wrapped around their waists, their wet hair plastered to their heads. The one in the lead, a brunet, stumbled over a pair of boots and landed clumsily on his butt. His attacker quickly took advantage and gleefully grabbed the man's sole piece of clothing.

"Ah ha!" the victor cried, as he yanked the towel off and waved it over his head. "You owe me five marks, Josef. Pay up!"

Amid the laughter from the others in the room, the loser smiled grimly and sat upright. "All right, Otto, you win, you win. Next payday."

"You better not forget, either," Otto said pointedly, shaking a finger at him. "I have a room full of witnesses."

"_Ja, ja_," Josef answered. He raised his hand. "Can I have my towel back now?"

Otto joined the rest of the room in a loud chuckle. "Sure, nature boy."

He tossed the towel back to Josef, making sure he aimed at the man's head. As Otto turned and left the room in a proud strut, Josef tied the towel back around his waist and got up off the floor. He walked over to the dresser beside Kendrick. Looking quite embarrassed, he opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of pajama bottoms.

"You must be the new man," he said, eying Kendrick. "My name is Josef Keitel. I don't normally greet newcomers like this," spreading his arms out to expose his trunk, "but consider yourself officially welcomed."

Kendrick chuckled and accepted Josef's extended hand to shake. "Kendrick Hutchinson. You must be my bunkmate."

"Uh-huh," Josef nodded, stepping into the trousers. "Is this the first camp you've worked at?"

"No, I was in Buchenwald for almost a year."

"A year? You've got more experience than me." Josef finished pulling his pants up. He slipped the towel off and rubbed it briskly over his wet hair. Peeking out from underneath, he asked, "Have you done much fighting?"

Kendrick sighed. Judging by Josef's looks, he was still probably in his teens and wet behind the ears, both literally and figuratively. The last thing Kendrick wanted to do was answer a bunch of questions from a starry-eyed soldier who had no idea what fighting was all about.

"Some," Kendrick replied vaguely. When Josef kept staring at him, Kendrick knew his short answer wasn't going to suffice. "In Poland, and the Ukraine."

"Ah! An Eastern Front man!" Josef sat down on his bed and raked a hand through his hair. "I was in a battalion in France—even got to march through Paris. And those French women?" Josef leaned forward. "Let me tell you," he said in a hushed voice, "I've never had my dick sucked like that by a fraulein before!"

Kendrick caught himself smiling. Obviously, Josef hadn't met that particular blond in Munich yet. "So what are you doing back in Germany, working at a concentration camp?" he asked.

Josef flung the towel over the back of his neck and held onto it with both hands. "Well, even though I like being outside, you know, going hiking and hunting, all that changes when the snow starts to fall. I've spent enough nights sleeping on frozen ground." He released one hand and patted the mattress beside him. "The army pays me the same, whether I'm sleeping in a pup tent or on a padded mattress. My mother didn't raise a _dumkopf_."

"No, I guess she didn't."

Sporting a sly smile, Josef said, "Tomorrow, if you want, I'll show you around camp. Maybe I'll even introduce you to a few of the secretaries in administration. They love to flirt with the guards. And who can blame them? They have to look at those old and wrinkly colonels all day long!"

"All right," Kendrick replied with a smile. "You've got yourself a date."

* * *

David looked up from the dirt road. He and Jakob were approaching several buildings located behind tall, double-walled rows of barbed wire fencing held in place by cement posts. Unlike the other camps he'd been in, this one looked more like an army barrack because three-story high brick buildings took the place of the usual wooden stables. Although David couldn't see the entire camp yet, it didn't look as large as the others he had been in.

Soon, his group was at the front gate. A wrought-iron sign spanned over the wide entrance, with a metal inscription bearing the phrase, "_Arbeit Macht Frei_."

"I wonder what they mean by that," Jakob asked, looking up at the sign as they passed underneath.

David shook his head. He took another look at the rows of brick buildings, wondering if this was some kind of special camp where good workers were sent as a reward.

"Maybe this is how it is here," David remarked. "Perhaps, if you work hard, you get to go free…or at least live in a decent place."

Jakob glanced at the buildings. "Maybe you're right. Perhaps, we shall soon see an end to our hardships."

David's stomach rumbled. Whether it was because of hunger or from the odd feeling he got from this camp, he couldn't tell. Instinct had taught him to never trust the Nazis, and right now he knew he needed to trust his gut.

.

Chapter 27

.

Kendrick shifted the sling of his rifle onto the other shoulder. He'd almost completed his shift and was looking forward to attending a special dinner being held that night for all the SS in Dachau. Josef was walking beside him and, for the last few days, had been talking non-stop about the extravagant gala. But for some reason, he'd been very quiet and moody today, barely even mentioning the upcoming event except for a curt acknowledgement of it during lunch.

"So, is your uniform all pressed and ready to go?" Kendrick asked, trying to draw him out.

"Huh?" Josef asked, lifting his head from staring at the ground.

"You know what I'm talking about," Kendrick griped. "Tonight? The big dinner?"

"Oh, that." Josef looked toward a patch of autumn-colored birches in the nearby woods. "I suppose I'm ready."

"Why are you sounding so glum?" Kendrick asked, noting Josef's unenthusiastic response. "Just last night you were bragging about how many women were asking if you'd be there."

Josef kicked at a stone lying on the ground. "Women!" he said scornfully. "They're nothing but big teases. They wrap you around their little fingers, then 'bang!' They drop you like a hundred pound sack of shit."

"Ah, I see." Kendrick tried to hide the grin on his face. "Hilda must have accepted someone else's invitation, huh?"

"That vixen can go fuck Hitler for all I care! She's not worth…oh, _scheisse_! There's that smell again!"

The noxious odor suddenly hit Kendrick, too.

"Fucking Jews, why can't they just shoot them instead?" Josef grumbled.

"What did you say?"

"The Jews," he repeated, nodding towards the inner camp, "they should just shoot them where they live, instead of bringing them here to be gassed. Damn rats, they stink whether they're alive or dead."

Stunned, Kendrick tried to comprehend what Josef had just said. Of course, he'd known about the trucks used to gas small groups of Jews, but he had seen arrivals of over a thousand prisoners come into camp just off of a single transport. Never paying too much attention, he'd always thought they had been assigned to work kommandos.

"I thought you knew," Josef ventured. "That's what this building is for."

He pointed a thumb at a thick stand of trees just outside of the camp perimeter. Beyond the fence and large drainage ditch bordering Dachau was a long, one-story building where the bodies of dead prisoners were taken to be cremated. Kendrick had never considered why it was purposely set off from the main camp and hidden in the woods.

"You mean there's a _gas chamber_ in that building?" Kendrick asked, horrified.

Josef chuckled. "Are you just as naïve as them? Believing they're only going inside there to take a shower?"

Fuming, Kendrick fired back, "Better to believe that than to think we've all turned into despicable, murdering bastards!"

"Hey, Kendrick! _Vas ist los_?" Josef asked, reaching over to grasp Kendrick's forearm. "They're just Jews, for God's sake. It's not like they're worth anything…"

Catching himself before he knocked the kid's head off, Kendrick jerked his arm away and took a deep breath. Someone like Josef wasn't going to understand that there was at least one person, an SS soldier at that, who was missing a Jewwho he considered very valuable. This whole Nazi philosophy of grouping together an entire race of religious individuals and branding them all as subversives, unworthy of life, was getting harder and harder to bear.

Since there was nothing he could say to change Josef's mind, Kendrick snapped the rifle strap off his shoulder and marched down the dirt road. He'd only gone a few steps when Josef came running up behind him.

"Kendrick. Kendrick, listen!"

Kendrick planted his feet and spun around. "What!" he spouted.

Josef glanced nervously around. "Just don't tell anyone what I said—"

"Why?" Kendrick asked hotly. "Is it some big secret?"

The young man's expression grew tenser. "Actually, yes. What I just told you isn't something we're supposed to know."

"What are you talking about?"

"I overheard a conversation a few months ago…" Josef peered over Kendrick's shoulder. His eyes were wide, searching for anyone within earshot. "A conversation that I'm sure I wasn't supposed to hear. Let's just say, if a rumor landed on the Gestapo's desk that was traced back to me, you'd be patrolling with a new partner by tomorrow."

Kendrick studied the soldier standing in front of him, the fear rising from his body nearly palpable, and wholly justified.

"Then you should think first before opening your big mouth," Kendrick growled. "But I won't be saying anything, if that's what you're worried about. Unlike you, I don't pride myself on being a cold-blooded killer."

* * *

"Wow," Starsky said quietly. "I never realized how bad things were in the concentration camps. I mean, everyone knows about how the prisoners were starved and worked to death, but you were treated like dogs. I wouldn't have wished something like that on my worst enemy. And I bet it wasn't exactly a barrel of laughs for you, either," he said to Kendrick, sitting by Hutch near the window. "Working all day alongside people who hated Jews."

Kendrick nodded. "It was very dangerous to act otherwise. You were judged on how loyal you were to Hitler, and that included hating everything about the Jews." Kendrick folded his hands in his lap. "After the war, I learned of a few others who did what they could—hit someone instead of shooting them, looked the other way when extra food was thrown over the fence. But those people, especially in the SS, were in the minority."

"Doesn't seem like those 'minorities' had a lot of choice, either," Hutch remarked. "It sounds like Josef was terrified of what the Gestapo would do to him."

"Yes, he was," Kendrick agreed. "_Everyone_ feared those devils. They had way too much power and were accountable to no one except Hitler."

"So, you didn't know about the gas chambers?" Starsky asked Kendrick. "I would've thought anyone working in those camps would've known what was goin' on there."

"No, not many did. Sure, everyone heard the rumors, saw the transports come and then leave empty, and smelled the odor of burning flesh. But very, very few ever saw the Jews gassed and then burned to ashes. Those who did were called '_Geheimnistrager_'—'bearers of secrets.'"

Kendrick fell silent as he and David stared quietly at each other. The expressions on their faces struck a familiar chord with Starsky. He'd seen Hutch look the same way hundreds of times, and now he suddenly realized what he was witnessing. That uncanny, but silent, communication he and his partner constantly shared was exactly what David and Kendrick were doing. _No wonder Dobey is always giving us odd looks_.

"Were these '_geheimnistragers_' treated differently than other SS?" Hutch asked the two friends, ending their unspoken discussion.

"No," Kendrick answered, "but they were men with whom those at the highest levels of command had the greatest confidence in. Men who could be counted on, no matter what, even if that meant shooting their own mother if ordered to."

"Man, that's cold," Starsky muttered.

"So was gassing millions of people. It was definitely something the Germans didn't want the world to know about," Kendrick remarked with an air of authority. "I heard rumors that the commandants were not allowed to even tell their families what was going on. If they, or anyone else did, the Gestapo quickly put an end to it."

A shudder ran through Starsky. He'd seen enough war movies to know that was one bad group you didn't want to mess with. "Did you see any Gestapo when you were in Auschwitz?" he asked David.

"No, Papa and I were only in the main camp for a few weeks, and we were rarely allowed to leave the barracks."

"Not even to go and work?" Hutch asked.

David shook his head. "The first two or three days, we just sat around. The room we were in was very large, but we were packed in there like sardines. At night, we slept on the bare floor. I guess because we under quarantine, the Germans didn't think we needed any mattresses or beds."

"Did they at least feed you?"

A sad smile appeared on David's face. "Yes and no," he said. The first night, we were given bread rations. I was so hungry I wanted to put the whole chunk in my mouth, just for once to feel like I was eating as much as I wanted. But we rarely ate like that. You picked off a tiny piece and chewed it very slowly. That way, it felt as if you had a lot to eat."

Starsky felt his stomach rumble. Although he wasn't quite up to downing pepperoni pizzas yet, at least he could eat as much of the hospital grub as his stomach allowed. His eyes settled on Kendrick, who was staring fixedly at the floor. Starsky wondered how hard it must be for him to sit there and listen to David's painful recollections. Perhaps he'd heard the story before, grown a little used to it, but only a callous bastard wouldn't be affected by such a tragic tale, especially one that had touched them both.

"The next morning," David continued, "they came with a big caldron of coffee, but none of us had cups or bowls, so they just took it away. After that, those who had the energy went looking for dishes."

"Did they find any?" Starsky asked.

"No," David said, obviously growing sadder. "They must have run into a couple of SS. Next thing that happened, we were all ordered out of the barrack and lined up in the yard. They told us to strip—yet _another_ selection. I was never so afraid of being picked as I was right then." He paused for a moment and cleared his throat. "I was still feeling very sick, and Papa was worse than me. I told him we needed to act the best we could, so they wouldn't pick either of us. Maybe, if I would've known then what I found out later…"

A silence fell over the room. Starsky wasn't sure what to say or do. He met Hutch's eyes, but his partner gave him the impression that the best thing to do was to wait. Starsky turned his attention to Kendrick, hoping that if anybody knew what to say, it would be him.

Surprisingly, it was Hutch who finally spoke. "What happened? Did you both avoid being selected?"

David nodded. "Yes…how, I don't know, but over half of our group was chosen. The Nazis didn't even allow them to put their clothes back on, they just marched them away. After that, a big pot of soup arrived, and some tin bowls. They were enamel coated and dark red. We had to carry those all the time. In Auschwitz, if you didn't have a bowl, you weren't fed. I'll never forget that day," he added. "As soon as that soup hit my stomach, I forgot about all those men who'd just been marched to their deaths."

* * *

A week later, David and Jakob were standing in their assigned roll call spots. So far, their stay in Auschwitz had been fairly uneventful. Since they hadn't been required to work, both had gotten some much needed rest and gained a bit of their strength back. But the lack of activity in a concentration camp wasn't normal, and David often found himself worrying about what the Germans were planning to do with them. Papa felt much the same way, but reasoned they should just enjoy the work break and not invite trouble.

So every morning after roll call, they watched the prisoners gather into groups and, like a military unit on parade, march away. A short time later, David and Jakob would hear the sound of music coming from the direction the prisoners had gone. It sounded like an orchestra playing, but David thought the music came from a gramophone, maybe through an outside speaker. He'd hear it again in the evening, as the work kommandos returned to camp, each group carrying the dead bodies of at least two of their comrades.

But today, when roll call was finished, his group wasn't allowed to return to their barrack. Instead, they were lined up in rows of five and marched to the main gate right behind the other kommandos. David heard the music start up with a crescendo.

He couldn't believe what he saw as he marched with the rest of the prisoners. Seated in a semi-circle in an open yard were about a dozen musicians performing a Bach concerto. All were dressed in striped camp uniforms, playing a motley assortment of violins, cellos and accordions. A female conductor led the orchestra, a wand pinched in her right hand. She waved the baton with passion, conducting the music as if she were a maestro in a Berlin concert hall instead of a concentration camp. Not one of the musicians looked up to take note of their audience passing by; instead they were too intent on their sheet music. The beautiful music seemed so out of place here that David didn't know what to say about the strange assembly of musicians.

Apparently, Jakob didn't know either. He kept staring at the odd group even after they'd marched past. David thought he recognized the piece of music, but couldn't recall the name. Dismissing the melody, he was more concerned with where he and Papa were going. The rest of their work detail, about a hundred strong, were being marched down a dusty road. The other kommandos had veered off in different directions, causing many of the men near David to anxiously look around.

"Where do you think they're taking us?" Jakob asked him.

"I don't know, Papa," David answered. _As long as they're not going to put us on another train_, he thought trying to stay calm, _it'll be alright. _

After walking for about an hour, David saw a familiar-looking building up ahead. Its large, tunneled entrance was the same one he'd seen in the distance just after he got off the train a week earlier. When his group reached the front gate, their escort stayed outside and a set of new guards, many with viciously barking German Shepherds, took over.

"_Juden!_" an SS officer snapped out, startling David. "You will stay in straight lines. No talking! If I hear one peep, I'll shoot the man responsible and ten more standing around him!"

Every prisoner around David stepped closer to the person in front of him. David glanced to his side, making sure Papa was following the order. Once they came through the tunnel and entered the camp, David was struck by the immensity of the place. Numerous stable-like buildings lined each side of the main road. They were similar to the structures in Majdanek, but much larger. Each barrack had a tall chimney rising from the center and a row of narrow windows running down both sides of the roof. Scattered here and there were small clusters of prisoners, some women, others just men. Judging by their emaciated frames, it was apparent the inmates here weren't fed any better than any other camp.

As his assembly continued walking deeper into the dense compound, David wondered if they'd never reach the opposite end of this prison metropolis. Each row of buildings he passed seemed to have dozens and dozens more beyond, stretching endlessly to the horizon. There were double barbed wire fences mounted on tall concrete posts encircled everything, sectioning off large areas of barracks and lining all the roads. Signs were posted every few meters along the fences, announcing 'Caution! High Voltage Danger!'

_How long had camps like this existed? Had they all been built in just the last couple of years? _

Finally, David could see that they were getting closer to a couple of red brick buildings with steep-pitched roofs and very large chimneys. Separated by about 100 meters, the two structures faced each other and were mirror images except one had yellowish-gray smoke belching from its massive chimney.

As the wind shifted, David caught a whiff of a sickening odor. There was no doubt that the building and its twin were crematoriums. As he looked back at the massive camp, David understood why the chimneys were so large. In a place this size, hundreds of people probably died of illness or exhaustion each day.

Just before reaching the fenced off areas of the crematoria, David turned to the left with the rest of the group. One man in the row ahead of him stumbled, causing David to do the same. Trying to keep his own balance to avoid falling, David stepped out of formation. Immediately, a guard's dog lunged at them, pulling ferociously at its leash and baring its teeth. Terrified, David shoved another prisoner aside to regain his place in line. His heart pounding, he breathed a sigh of relief when the guard just gave them a hard look and reined in the vicious German shepherd.

David wiped the sweat from his forehead, grateful for another reprieve. He didn't feel bad about pushing the other prisoner aside, although, if that had been Jakob, David would have sacrificed anything. Looking out of the corner of his eye, David could see that the only person he truly cared about was still behind him.

For the rest of the march, David kept putting one foot in front of the other, trying not to feel like just one more nameless Jew the Nazis could torture. He'd slowly learnt that thinking took too much effort and wasted energy that was needed for vigilance and making it past each day. But foremost now, the only thing on his mind was food, and as he arrived beside a one-story brick building, David sincerely hoped that he'd be getting some soon.

But this was Auschwitz and suddenly, their armed escort turned violent. The guards closed in on the Jews, compressing their ranks. A Nazi sergeant shouted,

"Everyone! Form two lines, right now! _Raus!_ _Raus!_" Two nearby dogs growled deep in their throats, snapping sharp teeth at the nearest prisoners.

His attention focused on the dogs, Papa barely ducked away from a wild swing of an officer's baton. The other guards raised their rifles in the air, ready to hit any prisoner who wasn't moving quickly enough.

"Now, you pigs! Faster!" The officer stared hotly at them, smacking his baton into his fist as if contemplating striking a random man at any moment. Satisfied with the Jew's compliance, he nodded and walked to the front of the lines. "All right, you've all been through this before. Do exactly as you are told, or else!"

Ushered into a large reception room, David immediately knew what was about to happen. There were ranks of barbers ready to completely shave the prisoners on one side of the room and tables set up to process them into the new camp on the other.

_Not again?_ How many times was he going to have to endure these dehumanizing procedures? He was so incredibly tired after the long hike. Couldn't they have some bread, or water to drink first? He prayed that this place at least had sharpened razor blades. A few Jews standing in the row behind him started talking in hushed tones. David tapped Jakob's shoulder, getting his attention.

"Do you think they might feed us after this is done?" he asked. Papa thought for a moment, then just shrugged his shoulders. Trying to think of something else to say, David glanced around at the linoleum floor and the plastered walls. "This is a big camp," he said. "I think it's at least twice as large as Majdanek."

"Yes," Jakob agreed. "There must be a lot of work here for everyone. We should try and see if we can find a kommando that works inside."

David frowned. What if all the good kommandos already had enough workers? Workers who found a niche, something they were good at, survived longer, so it was always important to find a work assignment as quickly as possible. The last few days of enforced inactivity had preyed on his mind, making him think too much. And, as he already knew, thinking was dangerous and could also be painful, especially when he'd remember past events. Like the times when he and Hannah would cuddle in their ghetto cubbyhole and dream about better days. Fortunately, the shouting of a guard telling him to step up to the first table preempted any further recollections.

The registration was exactly the same as at his previous camp. After the paperwork process, he and Jakob shed their clothes in a growing pile of rags and stacked their bowls on a table. David didn't want to give up his single source of food. What guarantees, if any, existed on getting it back?

"Come on, move!" a bored guard cautioned, hustling David into a queue for the barber.

David cringed as the razor scraped over his head. The room was drafty and made his naked skin shiver. Once the barber had finished, David had goosebumps the size of small peas. As before, the razor had done more ripping than shaving and he could feel the raw sting of razor burn on nearly every inch of his body.

He and Jakob were then directed into a second room. Expecting a shower, David was surprised to see another line of tables. Fellow prisoners manned each station, each engaged in close work on one of the new arrivals. Peering around the man in front of him, David was struck numb with horror.

Tattoos! They were being tattooed on their arms!

Stunned, David watched in utter disbelief as the tattooists worked steadily but quickly, permanently marking each new prisoner. Not one man flinched as he watched the degrading process. Each sat in bewildered silence, as if devoid of any logical reaction. Papa turned his head and looked solemnly at David. He didn't have to say anything; the atrocious indignity of it all was enough.

When it was his turn, David sat down reluctantly. The tattooist asked for his name and jotted it down on a registry sheet. After double checking the paperwork, the man grabbed David's left arm and dipped what looked like a homemade fountain pen into a small dish of ink. Using the sharpened point, he punctured the outside of David's forearm, leaving a dot of indelible ink. He repeated the procedure over and over, writing out first one number, then another. The first few pricks weren't bad, but as the needle kept being inserted into his skin, the pain became increasingly sharp and hot. David wanted to jerk his arm away, but what good would that do? Biting his lip, David turned his head away and tried to keep his mind off of the dehumanizing act.

The process took about five minutes, but it felt like centuries. David gasped in relief when the torture finally stopped. He opened his eyes and had to blink several times to clear the buildup of tears before he dared to look at his arm. There was a thin layer of watery blood on his skin which blurred the black ink. Wiping that away, he saw six black numbers, each about half an inch tall.

"_101539"_

"Next!" the tattooist yelled, motioning David off.

Shaking, David got up. He was concentrating so hard on his arm that he bumped into the next prisoner waiting behind him. Muttering a quick apology, he zeroed in on Jakob who'd already been tattooed.

"Papa?" David whispered, feeling lightheaded.

His father was staring sadly at his own arm. He lifted his eyes and David could see the depth of Jakob's pain.

"Mine is 101538." Jakob let his arm drop. Staring at David, he forced a slight smile. "Well, at least we won't forget the other's number, yes?"

David carefully rubbed a few fingers over the tender tattoo. "They can't even force themselves to think of us as people," he muttered, trying to come to grips with the permanent mark on his body. Seeing them both defiled like this made his stomach tighten in such a way that he hadn't felt since being forced to stroke Martz's dick.

"Does it matter to you what these devils think, my son?" Jakob asked, interrupting his musings. "What matters is what you consider yourself to be."

David had an odd sense of déjà vu. Not long ago, he'd contemplated that his thoughts, unlike his body, were free and could never be imprisoned. But now, standing naked in a room full of fellow slaves, David couldn't help but think he'd become nothing more than a few pounds of muscle destined to do the Nazi's bidding. His heart and soul had been ripped out, leaving him nothing more than an empty shell in search of food and a flat place to lay his head.

Two guards appeared and began herding David's group down the hall. The prisoners walked into a large room with wooden pallets on the floor and shower heads sticking out of pipes attached to the ceiling. Numbed in body and mind, David stepped into the shower. For once, the man controlling the water temperature didn't change it back and forth from hot to cold. Still, the freezing water stung David's raw, scraped skin like fiery ice. Thankfully, the bathing didn't last long.

Sopping wet and shivering, he followed Jakob and the rest of the naked Jews out of the shower.

"Grab a bowl," a prisoner with clean and crisp striped clothing and plump cheeks said as he pointed to stacks of them on a table. The man's healthy appearance instantly made David envious. _This is what working inside can be like here_, he thought. But he was grateful for the smallest luxury. His own bowl again.

At the next station, small teams of similarly dressed prisoners threw out striped blue and grey pants and long-sleeved shirts to each man in line. Worn out shoes completed the dingy uniforms.

Familiar with this distribution routine, David and Jakob quickly compared clothing sizes.

"Here, Papa, these are smaller." David handed over his pair of pants and took Jakob's. His father was a little shorter than he was, and the threadbare pants almost fit him perfectly. The footwear they got was a different story. Although not wooden clogs, the shoes had large holes in the soles. The front seam on one of Papa's was ripped nearly all the way across.

"That's okay, son," Papa replied when David tried to trade shoes with him. "These will be fine."

David reluctantly nodded his head, but his spirit sank even further when he realized winter wasn't that far away. Without a way to keep their feet dry and at least somewhat warm, neither he nor Jakob stood a chance of staying fit enough to work. And in a camp like this, even bread rations might not be enough to trade for a decent pair of shoes.

* * *

"_Sturmmann_!"

Kendrick turned around and immediately came to attention. His commander, Lieutenant Schiffer, had just come out of the administration building.

"Yes, Herr _Obersturmführer_!"

The lieutenant walked up to Kendrick and handed him a letter. "These are your new orders, Corporal," he said.

Kendrick took the envelope and started to open the flap.

"As you know, our forces on the Eastern Front are suffering higher than expected casualties," Schiffer explained. "They're transferring many of the guard staff from the camps to help fill the ranks. Your transport leaves in two days."

Dropping his hands down to his sides, Kendrick didn't even bother to look at the paperwork. He knew there'd be time to do that later, when he could cuss in private. But as he straightened to salute his superior, something about the lieutenant's demeanor caught his attention.

The man grew somber, and he gazed out in the distance. "It seems officers are also needed at the front," he muttered. Looking back at Kendrick, he said, "I'll be going with you, only my final destination, I'm afraid, will be a little _farther_ east. Congratulations on your promotion…_Herr Rottenführer_."

The man gave a quick salute, "Heil, Hitler." He turned crisply on his heel and headed down the gravel path towards their quarters.

Dumbfounded, Kendrick finished opening the letter and pulled out the sheet of paper. He rapidly scanned through the typed orders. By the third sentence, he'd read all he needed—

"Rottenführer Hutchinson: Our supreme commander and leader of the Third Reich, Adolf Hitler, wishes to congratulate you on your promotion to Lance Corporal. Your loyalty and faithful service to Germany is now needed in the occupied territory of Katowice, Silesia. Your new post will be the Konzentrationslager Auschwitz, at Oswiecim."

"_Oh, scheisse! Not Poland again!"_

_TBC_


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 28**

**.**

"Get down!"

"Crawl! On your bellies, you dogs!"

"Now, jump up! Up!

"Higher! Don't you hear me, you pieces of shit?"

David stood shivering and kept his eyes forward, grateful he wasn't one of a dozen men he was watching being dehumanized in the roll call yard.

"Get down! Now, hop. Hop!"

"Faster!"

The poor devils fumbling around on the slick roll call yard had been picked at random this morning by Kirtzel, one of the head kapos. A native Pole, he bore a slight resemblance to Uncle Emir but that was the only thing the two had in common. Kirtzel wore the green triangle of a violent criminal, and David had no doubt the man had committed murder long before ever stepping foot in a concentration camp. He'd personally seen the kapo kill at least 20 prisoners in the last few months.

"Now, back on your bellies!"

"Faster, you Yid bastards! Faster!"

The twelve men following Kirtzel's senseless commands were unwillingly entertaining their tormentors in what the Nazis affectionately called "sport". The idea behind this perverted game was to force prisoners to do various exercises as fast as they could. While David could briefly envy the victims for the heat their bodies were producing, in a few more minutes all would be dead, either from exhaustion or being shot. "Sport" wasn't played too often, but it seemed to provide greater entertainment for the SS as opposed to the more mundane spectacles of a whipping or hanging.

As David continued to watch, a late winter wind kicked up and swirled around the assembly yard. The sun had risen above the horizon, but wasn't high enough in the sky yet to offer any warmth to him or the thousands of Jews standing on the ice-crusted ground at Birkenau. And like the cold surrounding him, David couldn't arouse much more than a momentary twinge of sadness as an SS officer raised his pistol and pulled the trigger, claiming the first victim. Living in constant fear had drained David's energy and his reservoir of compassion, leaving him with barely enough for himself, much less any extra for others. He shuddered as another stiff blast of cold air raced through the columns of bareheaded Jews.

Another shot echoed in the yard, and a second prisoner dropped to the ground.

_Besides, they were all here to die.._.

A third shot, and then a fourth.

_It was just a matter of when. _

Kirtzel and two SS laughed wildly at the remaining Jews as they tried harder to follow the kapo's commands. Evidently, their efforts weren't enough as three more gunshots exploded in the air.

_Today it is you, tomorrow it will be me. _

Those words had become his mantra. David never expected to be free again; never raise a family; never leave this camp alive. One day he would die here, most likely at the hands of a sadistic kapo or from starvation. Perhaps he would even become his own executioner. He'd been considering that alternative; the electrified wire that delineated his world and held him captive also offered a quick and easy way to end the suffering. But he couldn't do such a thing while Papa was still alive, no matter how bad things got. Jakob didn't deserve to be dishonored like that. Yet, as each hellish day dragged by, David struggled harder and harder to keep his will to survive from fading away.

Papa's outlook was an entirely different matter. If anything, his will to live had grown stronger. Throughout the day and well into the night, when the two were huddled together in the cold under their single blanket, Jakob was constantly reciting the holy prayers. The chanting seemed to lift his spirit, and if some small blessing came their way, like a piece of fatty sausage at dinner, Jakob's face would almost glow with appreciation. But when things grew more desperate, the only noticeable change in Papa's devotion was that his praying became more fervent.

A howl of despair, cutting through the icy wind, briefly interrupted David's thoughts. Another pistol shot followed, a mocking echo of the doomed prisoner's last tortured cry.

_So you used your last breath to call on God. Did he even hear your pitiful prayer?_

Lying in their crowded bunk at night, David would listen to his father's whispered chanting and wish that the faith keeping Jakob's spirit afloat would somehow lift his, too. But a spiritual connection to an almighty God continued to elude him, especially in this place where humanity barely survived. Only brutality prevailed, while sympathy and pity were abhorred. Goodwill and love had been extinguished, conquered by an ever-kindled inferno of cruelty and hate. If God did still exist, then He wasn't strong enough to overcome the unspeakable evil that flourished here.

One of the SS observers began laughing so hysterically, he had to bend over to control himself. His partner took out his own pistol and fired several shots. Three more Jews crumpled to the ground.

One last victim remained from this morning's "sport". The young teenager was on his hands and knees, desperately sucking air into his famished lungs. Kirtzel respectfully stepped back, making sure the SS sergeant aiming his pistol at the lone survivor had a clear shot. The kid raised anguished eyes to look at his executioner.

David's stomach turned. Unlike watching grown men murdered, children were a different story. Their innocence was harder to witness being snuffed out.

"Why?" the teenager asked pathetically, his body trembling.

Lowering his weapon, the sergeant paused, apparently amused by the question. "_Warum_?" he replied. "_Hier, ist kein warum_!" Quickly, he raised his pistol and sent the youngster into the next world.

"Alright, you dirty Jews!" yelled Kirtzel. "Caps on! Line up, quickly!"

David replaced his hat and grabbed Papa to keep him close. They hurried past the dead bodies to the dull grey cauldrons steaming with the morning's ration of bitter tea. Neither spoke as they took their place in line, each holding his red tin bowl. It'd be miserable working outside today, but dreading the long, cold day in front of him wouldn't make it go by any faster. In this corner of hell, he had learned to accept whatever came his way, whether that was death, or another day of hard work.

Like the SS sergeant had just said, "Here, there is no why."

* * *

As he buttoned his uniform jacket, Kendrick looked out of the barrack window and stared at the quarantine shacks inside of the camp. All the buildings here looked the same, dark brown wooden sheds lined up row after row on pale-colored, dusty ground. Even though spring had already arrived, the bleakness of this place overwhelmed the bright wildflowers and green fields of the surrounding countryside. When he'd first arrived at Auschwitz, with its attractive brick buildings and proximity to town, Kendrick was hopeful that he'd be content living in Poland again. But less than a week later, he'd been reassigned to Birkenau, a massive sub-camp built on top of an old swamp. Nearly 50,000 prisoners were imprisoned behind its barbed wire fences.

Because of the camp's location, the ground here had a noxious smell, especially after a heavy rain when the clay dirt formed into a pasty mud and stuck tenaciously to boots and clothing. Kendrick would spend hours trying to clean the slimy grit off the floors in his quarters. That, coupled with the odor of burning flesh which permeated the air, made living here atrocious. For the first time in his career, Kendrick was actually looking forward to winter. At least the frigid cold would solve one of the camp's problems.

He let out a frustrated sigh and glanced at his watch. There was still about an hour left before his shift began. Since it was a pleasant day, Kendrick decided to explore parts of the camp he hadn't seen yet. When he arrived a few weeks ago, he was given a quick tour with several other newly assigned men, but there had been no time to inspect the crematoria or the other buildings on the north side of camp. Kendrick was curious about what was really happening inside those ominous structures, especially after what Josef had said back in Dachau. He grabbed his rifle and headed outside.

When Kendrick got about 50 meters away from the first pair of twin crematoriums, there was a fenced gate on either side of the road. Peering past the barbed wire fencing, he noted that each building was surrounded by a large yard, parts of which supported well-kept lawns and gardens. The manicured plots added a strangely genteel touch to these ominous structures.

Choosing a gate, Kendrick walked over to the two guards stationed in front, naturally expecting to be let through with a nod.

"Halt! What is your business here?" the private asked hotly.

Taken aback by the subordinate's tone, Kendrick stiffened.

"I'm _Rottenführer_ Hutchinson," he said, insulted. "I work in section B1."

"I can see you're a corporal. What do you want?"

Kendrick eyed the man, and then glanced at his partner. He'd seen members of the Gestapo look less intimidating than these guys.

"I just wanted to take a look." Kendrick nodded at the building.

"Well, you've had your look, now go!"

Under any other circumstances, Kendrick would've written the private up for insubordination, but something told him to just keep quiet and make a gracious exit. Hesitantly, he started to leave. Taking a last glance over his shoulder, Kendrick felt a sickening twinge in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't hard to sense that something wrong was going on here, but instinct was telling him whatever it was he'd be better off not knowing.

"Coward," he whispered. "You know damn well what's happening…you've seen it with your own two eyes. Does it really surprise you that this is what the Germans have become? A race of mass murderers?"

_It's the same thing you were doing in the Russian forests!_

Kendrick kicked a stone on the dirt road into a muddy puddle, wishing he could do the same with his conscience. He'd tried to forget what had happened in those woods, tried to erase his accountability with alcohol and sex. But none of that had worked. His hands were just as bloody as those of the men who sat in chancellery offices and meticulously designed plans to exterminate a whole race of people.

_God, was it even worth living anymore?_

Was the hell he continued to suffer on earth any better than the one that awaited his soul? No matter how hard he tried, there seemed to be nothing he could do to make up for what he'd done in the past.

_Murder, Kendrick. Say it! You committed murder._

"All soldiers kill in times of war," he said to himself. "It's their duty."

_Oh, that old excuse—you were just following orders—being a good soldier, right?_

"Yes! I was a good soldier! I did everything that was asked of me!" Kendrick took a quick glance around to make sure no one was in earshot. "I couldn't refuse," he said, in a lower tone, "I couldn't…"

_You despicable bastard, you're only fooling yourself! You could've said 'no'—but didn't._

Kendrick felt a tear slide down his face. "I never wanted to kill anybody," he whimpered, his heart aching with each beat. "I swear—I never wanted to kill."

He picked his head up and looked at a few prisoners wondering aimlessly in the yard. They were as thin as skeletons and had such vacant expressions that they looked like walking corpses.

_At least your time in hell is coming to an end,_ Kendrick thought.

* * *

"Hey! What are you doing?"

David and Jakob jerked their heads around in the direction of the voice. Both were inside the camp, finishing their midday soup and trying to rest sore muscles before returning to the grueling task of digging ditches. David recognized the Jew who'd yelled. His name was Abram and his younger brother, Tomek, was right behind him. "What are you doing?" Abram repeated, pointing angrily at another prisoner.

"Nothing!" the targeted man called out, clutching a handful of bread. "It was just lying on the ground!"

"That's my brother's ration. Give it to me!"

Now David could understand why Abram was mad. A small ration of bread could often mean the difference between life and death.

"Abram, it's alright," Tomek said, grabbing his brother's arm. "Let's just go, before the Kapo comes."

Abram ignored the plea and twisted free. "Give it to me!" he growled at the thief.

"No, I found it…it's mine!" The prisoner folded both arms in tight against his chest and took a few steps backward.

David glanced around to see if their kapo was nearby. If he was, both Abram and the man he was accusing would likely be beaten, regardless of who was in the wrong.

"You give that back to my brother right now, or tonight, I promise, your head will be bashed in!"

Abram's threat seemed to have frightened the thief. He looked around nervously, perhaps wondering if anyone watching would join his accuser.

David knew Abram wasn't bluffing. Out of all the camp rules, there was only one considered unbreakable by all the inmates—stealing food from another prisoner. Those who'd been blamed were frequently discovered dead in their bunks the following morning, apparently having 'died' in their sleep.

"Go to hell!" the thief yelled. With a gleeful look he crammed the entire piece of bread into his mouth.

Clenching his fists, Abram's eyes widened and then narrowed.

"No, brother, no!"

Tomek cried in horror as Abram leapt on top of the thief and pummeled him with his fists.

By now, the entire kommando was on their feet, watching the fight. Some were actually cheering. David stepped back from the gathering crowd and turned to Jakob, making sure he was doing the same thing. They couldn't afford a beating and as soon as the kapo arrived, that's exactly what would happen to anybody standing too close to the ruckus.

* * *

Kendrick was walking around a corner when he heard raised voices off to his right. He followed the noise and found approximately two dozen prisoners standing in a crude circle. In the middle, two men were tangled together on the ground, fighting. Kendrick slung the rifle off of his shoulder and was about to shout a warning when he caught sight of a kapo dashing headlong into the crowd, yelling and waving his truncheon in the air.

Kendrick decided to hold back and stay where he was and let the functionary take care of the problem. As a foreman arrived to help the kapo, Kendrick saw a pair of prisoners backing away from the skirmish.

The older of the two men looked familiar, but it was the younger one who stirred something in Kendrick. When the prisoner turned his head a little more, Kendrick nearly gasped out loud. Could it be? The man's face was thinner, his eyes sunken in more, and his thick, curly hair was gone, replaced with just a thin layer of black stubble. But that had to be—

_Oh, my God!_

"David…" Kendrick said breathlessly.

He couldn't believe it. Jakob and David Starsky were only a few meters away. Kendrick rubbed his eyes, just in case fatigue and the late afternoon sun were playing tricks on him. But there was no doubt; that _was_ his childhood friend—living, breathing and _alive_. Yet, Kendrick couldn't help but notice how old and tired his friend looked. The last time they'd seen each other, David was still a teenager. Now, he could pass for almost thirty.

Kendrick took a few steps forward, and then stopped. What was he doing? He couldn't just walk up and give David a big hug. Kendrick looked over at the kapo. The fight appeared to be over as the kapo had hold of the two combatants, shaking and yelling curses at them.

Kendrick needed to act quickly. In a camp this size, it'd be hard to track David down again. Taking advantage of the distraction, Kendrick slipped around a small crowd standing near the kapo and stealthily approached the man he hadn't seen in almost five years.

Jakob saw him first. David had his back turned and was apparently talking to his father. Jakob stared, astonished, and gave Kendrick a hard, wary look. With some of his enthusiasm deflated, Kendrick stopped just short of reaching David, very aware of the pounding of his heart. There was no turning back now; he had to see his best friend eye to eye.

Kendrick took another step forward and Jakob instantly sprang to attention. As the older man snapped off his cap, David stiffened as well. He jerked around, and his eyes locked onto Kendrick. For a second, his mouth gaped open with surprise.

"David," Kendrick said longingly.

For an instant, he expected to see a flash of happy recognition spread across David's face. Instead, David lowered his head; his lavender blue eyes darting to the ground. He snapped off his cap and stood like a frightened child ready to be chastised.

Confused, Kendrick took another step forward.

"David, it's me," he said, his excitement evaporating. Shaking off the possibility that David didn't want to look at him, Kendrick glanced at Jakob. At least he was peering at Kendrick, but both Starskys kept their heads bowed in deference.

Kendrick inched closer to his best friend.

"I'm…I'm so happy to see you," he murmured in a voice barely above a whisper. "I thought that maybe you'd been killed."

Jakob lifted his head slightly, and gave Kendrick a scornful glare.

"I'm working here now," Kendrick said cautiously, glancing back at the kapo who was still berating his two charges. Kendrick only had a few seconds to speak freely. "What's your barrack number? Maybe I can—"

"_Rottenführer! Vas ist los_?" The kapo who'd broken up the fight trotted over to Kendrick. He had a firm grip on his baton and was slapping it against his other palm. "What did _these_ dogs do?" he asked, acting like a vicious animal himself.

"Nothing," Kendrick replied, observing David out of the corner of his eye. "I was just asking them something."

The kapo looked confused and gave both Jakob and David a thorough head to toe inspection. "Does the corporal wish to interrogate these pigs further?" he proposed.

Kendrick turned to face Jakob and David. Neither was looking at him. They stood like statues with their eyes glued to the ground, their chests heaving noticeably in and out. Shoving his disappointment aside, Kendrick quickly made a mental note of David's number, hoping to locate which barrack he'd been assigned at a later time. He tried to memorize the Kapo's number, but abandoned that plan. Instead, he opted for something easier.

"No, I'm done with these m… prisoners. What is your name?" Kendrick demanded, using his own power over a subservient to defuse any potential suspicion.

Now the kapo appeared worried. "Mannheim, _Herr Rottenführer_."

"Mannheim," Kendrick repeated. He glanced at David again, noticing the remnants of an old bruise under David's right eye and what looked like a healed cut across the bridge of his nose and eyebrow.

_Oh God, he's been beaten._

Kendrick ended his cursory inspection. To linger on David's appearance any longer would certainly cause Kendrick's anger to boil. He may not have actually tortured his best friend, but it was obvious from David's reaction that he certainly held Kendrick culpable. Addressing the kapo, he said, "Carry on."

With a sigh of relief, the kapo turned to the rest of the prisoners standing nearby. "Everyone, line up! Back to work, right now! On the double!"

Before Kendrick could even try to catch David's eyes again, he and Jakob lined up with their work detail into ranks of five and quickly shuffled away. Within a few seconds, they'd gone around a building and were out of sight.

Kendrick stayed where he was, a mixture of emotions running back and forth through his mind. He felt like crying after seeing his friend so dehumanized, his spirit clearly broken. The David Starsky he'd last said goodbye to was a strong, energetic teenager unafraid to back down from a fight. A young man, who was deeply in love—

_Hannah!_

Kendrick wondered if she was also here. He pulled a small notepad out of his pocket and jotted down David's number and the kapo's name. As soon as he had a chance, Kendrick would find where David was quartered and try to hunt Hannah down as well.

His spirit partially renewed, Kendrick tucked the pad back in his jacket and headed to his post. His heart skipped a beat when he immediately ran into another person he'd never have dreamed of seeing again.

"Kendrick! Well, what a surprise!"

Kendrick took a hard swallow. The man standing in front of him had been dreaded when he was still only a sergeant. Now, the lieutenant insignia on his shoulders and neck collar indicated he was a force to be avoided with at all costs.

"_Untersturmführer_ Mueller," Kendrick uttered, trying not to choke. "How good it is to see you again, sir."

.

**Chapter 29**

**.**

"Sir? You don't have to be so formal with me, Kendrick," Mueller scoffed. "You and I, we will always be on a first name basis, _ja_?"

Kendrick smiled graciously, but his skin crawled. Erick Mueller was like a slimy rat. On the outside, he came across as slick and harmless, but underneath that veneer lurked a cunning mind, intent on ascending the seniority ladder. If his old academy classmate was really assigned here, Kendrick had no intentions of standing in his way.

"Of course, Erick," Kendrick said, eyeing the other officer standing beside Mueller. He was shorter than most SS men, with an oval face and trimmed blond hair that stuck out from underneath his uniform hat. His face still held a boyish charm, and with his broad shoulders and muscular body, he looked like the perfect Nazi poster model. But the way the man smiled with perfectly straight lips, and the peculiar stare of his glass eye, made Kendrick shiver.

"Ah, where are my manners?" Erick gestured to the master sergeant. "This is Otto Moll. He's head of the Birkenau crematoriums. _Hauptscharführer_, this is…oh, I see you've gone up a notch, Kendrick. This is _Rottenführer _Hutchinson."

Moll reached out his hand. "Pleased to make your acquaintance," he said.

Kendrick shook the man's hand, then withdrew from the limp grip. "So, are you also in charge of the crematoria?" Kendrick asked Mueller.

Both men gave him an odd look, as if he'd stumbled onto a private matter. _Even more reason to forget about what's going on in those buildings,_ Kendrick thought.

"No," Erick replied. "I'm in charge of _Sonderbehandlung_…'special handling' of prisoners."

Kendrick cringed inwardly as Mueller stressed the words 'special handling' and exchanged sly grins with his companion. Hoping to find a suitable reason to excuse himself from these two henchmen, Kendrick glanced at his watch.

"By the way, Kendrick," Mueller remarked, interrupting him, "What were you talking to those two Jews about?"

Kendrick snapped his head up. "Nothing in particular, Lieutenant," he answered, trying to keep his voice calm. "I thought they might have seen how the fight began."

"Is that something an SS soldier should concern himself with?" Moll asked coldly. "If these animals want to kill each other, why interfere?"

"I was just…thinking about assisting the Kapo." Kendrick felt his cheeks flush. If anything, he was digging a hole for himself, and these were definitely the wrong people to do that in front of.

"Kapos," Mueller spat. "They're practically worthless! Just like circus animals, ready to bite the hand that feeds them as easily as performing on command. They don't need our help, only an occasional bash across the head!"

"Yes, sir…I'll remember that." Kendrick raised his watch hand. "Well, I should be reporting for duty. I don't want to keep anyone waiting."

Moll eyed him suspiciously. "My, such dedication, Corporal. Do you always start your shift so early?"

Kendrick knew better than to fall into that trap. "Only on a beautiful day like today," he answered.

Both Moll and Mueller chuckled. "Ah, you'll have to join us for dinner sometime," Erick offered. "I'll send you an invitation soon, alright?"

"That will be fine, Lieutenant."

"Heil Hitler, then!"

"Heil Hitler."

Kendrick returned the salute and gratefully hurried away. With Mueller in camp, he'd have to be extra careful around David. Obviously, the man had seen something when Kendrick was talking to his long lost friend. At least, he still thought of David as a friend, but judging by his silence today, Kendrick wasn't sure of David's feelings on the matter. However, he couldn't let that stand in the way of finding him again.

Kendrick realized suddenly that he had a new mission. He couldn't do anything for all those lives he had taken, but perhaps he could save at least one. That was hardly a fair trade, but it did remind him of something David had told him once.

"_Whoever destroys a single life is guilty of annihilating the entire world; but whoever saves a single life, saves the world entire."_

This was how he could redeem himself, at least in part, for all the destruction he'd caused. Whatever the cost, whatever Kendrick had to do, David was going to survive this war.

"He'll make it," Kendrick swore solemnly. "He'll make it, or I'll die trying."

* * *

David crawled into his bunk and lay down, still clutching the handful of bread from dinner. He didn't remember eating the small bite of fatty sausage that had been added to the meager ration tonight, so he might've given it to Papa. It didn't matter; right now he just wanted to be alone. David's past had reappeared today, and he wasn't sure how to stop it from happening again.

He pinched off a piece of bread and rolled it into a hard ball with his finger tips. Sticking it in his mouth, he chewed slowly. The tiny bits of sawdust wedged into his gums, but David was used to the extra 'fiber' the Nazis added to the loaves.

After a short time, he felt someone lay down behind him. The careful movement of the visitor told him it was Jakob. David shifted slightly to allow his father a little more room, and went back to eating his bread.

"David, I have to ask you something," Jakob said.

"What, Papa?"

He heard Jakob sigh loudly. "Earlier today…why did you not say anything to Kendrick?"

David remained silent and continued to chew his food. Maybe if he didn't answer, Papa would drop the subject.

"David," Jakob insisted, shaking his shoulder. "Answer me."

David rolled over onto his back. Jakob was lying on his side, with his head resting on an arm. He had a stern look on his face, one that David recognized all too well.

"He's part of the past, Papa…that's why."

"What do you mean by 'the past'?"

David let his eyes drift upwards, and stared at the bottom slats of the bunk above them. He was already feeling the first twinges of pain in his heart.

"The past," David repeated. "What our lives were like in Germany with Mother…the day I met and fell in love with Hannah…the first time I held my son in my arms…" David paused, a single tear flowing from his eye. He blinked to clear his vision. "_That_ past. It's gone now, and it hurts too much to remember."

Jakob appeared shaken, but in his characteristic way, he waited a moment before speaking. Finally, he asked, "Why do you let them take that away from you, too?"

"I'm not _letting_ them," David argued, although he knew it wasn't the truth. "Memories don't belong here. You spend every second paying attention. Like today, I should've seen him coming…" David shut his eyes, trying not to dwell on similar incidents. "If he'd been another Kapo, or a block elder…"

Jakob patted him on the shoulder. "But, that's not what happened. Kendrick sounded like he wanted to help. Are you sure you're doing the right thing?"

David raised his head. "What are you saying, Papa? You've always hated him! You never even wanted me to see him. Now you're mad at me for trying to avoid him?"

"Shhsh!" Jakob hissed. "Don't forget where you're at."

"I _know _where I'm at," he grumbled. "So what should I have done?"

Another long moment passed before Jakob spoke. "I know you're scared," he said. "I also know that you don't trust that the Good Lord will take care of us…"

David dropped his head and let out a frustrated sigh.

Jakob's expression tightened, but just a little bit. "What I'm saying is, you might find yourself alone…at some point—"

"Papa!" David exclaimed, locking eyes with him. "No, you're wrong. If…if you go, I won't stay. I won't." David kept his voice low, but strong. He hoped Papa would understand what he was saying. There was no way he'd live in this hell hole without him. He wouldn't. He _couldn't._

"David, listen to me. You've heard the rumors. The Russians are starting to win. Trust me, they're much tougher than the Germans. Why do you think your Uncle Emir was so afraid when they invaded Poland?"

David smiled briefly, but quickly let the memory go.

"What I'm saying is you might survive this; and if that happens—"

"No, Papa. No." David repeatedly shook his head. "Don't you see? There'd be nothing worth living for! Our lives, our home…it's all gone."

"What about Hannah?"

"Hannah is dead."

Jakob visibly shuddered. "You know this to be true?" he gasped.

David's tears returned. "I often hope so; it tears my heart to think that she's suffering like us, with no one to help her, to cradle her when she's alone and hungry. She's better off in Heaven, taking care of Isaac…"

"Son, I know this is asking a lot, but I want you to _live_. Do you understand? I _want_ you to survive."

"No, Papa…"

"You must bear witness, David. If not you, then who? You have seen how these devils have murdered our people…your Uncle, your son…soon, your own father."

"Papa!" David shot up from the bunk. "What do you mean?"

Jakob's face saddened. "I'm not well," he replied softly and rested a hand on his stomach. "I've been losing blood, for a while now." He cupped David's cheek. "If I could die, knowing that you'll survive, then I can go to my Maker in peace."

"I don't want you to go," David moaned. "Maybe, if you went to the hospital…"

"Son, you know…" Jakob lowered his eyes.

He didn't have to finish. David knew they wouldn't find any help for Papa here in camp.

"Papa, maybe it'll stop…the bleeding. If we can find some better food, you'll…" David couldn't continue. This wasn't fair! Here was a righteous man, who prayed every day, and yet now God was just going to sit back and let Papa die—

"Here, now." Jakob wiped off David's tears. "I've lived a full life, with very few regrets." After taking a little extra time to clean the grime off of David's cheeks, Papa looked directly at him. "If Kendrick can help in some way, then don't let pride get in the way," he said softly. "He might wear a Nazi uniform, but he doesn't hate us, not like the others. I think deep down you know you can trust him."

David lay back on his bunk. He still wasn't sure if he could honor Papa's wishes, but perhaps he was right about Kendrick. If he could help them, what would be the harm in letting him?

"Alright, Papa. If I see him again, I'll talk to him."

Jakob smiled approvingly and lay down beside David. Noticing the roll of bread still in his hand, David stuck it in his pocket. He didn't feel like eating any more tonight. Jakob's news had stopped his hunger. Closing his eyes, he willed sleep to come quickly. Maybe he could dream about how to make Papa well again.

"Good night, _Zuninkeh_."

"'Night, Papa."

The last thing David remembered was Jakob softly chanting.

* * *

Three days later, Kendrick dashed out of his barrack and hurried towards the center of camp. It was still dark outside, but roll call always started early. This morning would be special, though. Kendrick had traded shifts with a very grateful coworker, and had finally located David's barrack. A couple of hours from now, Kendrick would have a chance to talk to his best friend again.

He was certainly better prepared this time. Kendrick had put together a crude type of Red Cross package, filled with items that David could either use or trade for better food rations. With any luck, his friend would accept the gift and realize Kendrick was trying to be sincere. At least, that's what he was hoping would happen.

Kendrick arrived at his designated post and immediately started to search through the endless lines of prisoners, looking for that one familiar face. Daylight had barely broken over the horizon, providing just enough light to make out individual features. After several minutes of inspection, Kendrick finally spotted David and Jakob, but couldn't tell if they'd seen him or not. He'd just have to wait until roll call was finished, then make his move.

An hour and a half later, Kendrick could sense the waiting was almost over. His body felt stiff, but unlike David and the other prisoners, Kendrick had been moving around. How David did this, day after day, morning and night, was incomprehensible. If Kendrick had anything to be proud of right then, it was because he knew someone who possessed such a strong tenacity for survival. Seeing his friend standing out there, defying the odds, only strengthened Kendrick's resolve to ensure David's survival.

As the kapos began reporting to the blockfuhrers, Kendrick moved closer to David's group.

David had an odd feeling all morning. Something wasn't right. It started when the Kapo grabbed him before he and Papa got out the door. They were told they had to stand in a different spot during roll call, something no one else was instructed to do. Then, during the head count, David recognized Kendrick standing in place of the usual guard.

Because talking was forbidden until they were dismissed, David hadn't been able to speak with Jakob. Maybe he was overreacting. Kendrick's presence could signify something better was in store for them. Still, David had learned to trust his instincts, and what they were telling him wasn't good at all.

Kendrick shifted from one foot to the other. This torture was killing him. Glancing at his watch, he noticed it was almost seven o'clock. The sunrise had been pretty, saturated in pastel pinks and oranges; but now the bright sun was high enough to hover right above the roofs of the barracks. Hearing a staff car approaching, Kendrick watched as the vehicle pulled up and parked just a few meters away. The sight of the man getting out of the Mercedes made Kendrick cringe inwardly. What business did Mueller have being here?

The lieutenant approached a group of blockfuhrers. After a short conversation, the functionaries separated and went to speak to their kapos. With an arrogant swagger, Mueller walked over and took a position at the head of David's group.

"Prisoners of section B-II-d!" he yelled. "One of your members tried to escape last night. As can be expected, he was not successful. Although the swine has paid with his life, this kind of behavior cannot be tolerated!"

An uneasy feeling shot through Kendrick. If there'd been an escape last night, why hadn't he heard the alarm sound? Kendrick hadn't been here very long, but he'd heard other guards complaining about how the sirens went off for hours after a prisoner went missing. Maybe this one had been caught very quickly.

"Therefore," Mueller continued, "three of you will be punished as an example."

Erick paused for a moment, and then purposefully headed straight to where David was standing. The ground beneath Kendrick instantly gave way.

.

David had watched the staff car drive up, but hadn't paid much attention to the officer who got out. His stomach had been rumbling for the last hour, and all he wanted to do was finish his cache of bread from last night. When the SS lieutenant mentioned the escape, David felt an anxious dread knot in his chest. The Nazis never stopped with just the death of the captured prisoner; they always killed a few more as a deterrent.

When the officer stopped talking and came right at him, David's breath was cut off as suffocating fear took hold.

.

Time slowed for Kendrick as the distance between Mueller and David grew shorter and shorter. His apprehension lifted only slightly when Erick grabbed the man standing in front of David, but shot sky high as David was seized by the neck. Holding his two captives, Mueller dragged them to the front of the assembled crowd and threw both on the ground. He returned and grabbed a third prisoner from the front row and tossed him down in the dirt beside David.

"On your knees, now, pigs!" Mueller ordered, taking his pistol out of the holster. "Heads bowed!"

.

David's palms and knees stung when he landed on the hard ground. That sharp pain was the first thing he'd felt since the Nazi's fingers circled tightly around his throat. His heart was racing so fast he could barely concentrate. Everything was going at top-speed. He wanted to look at Papa, but didn't think he could manage even that simple task.

Suddenly, he sensed someone behind him. He looked down and saw the long silhouette of the lieutenant stretched out on the ground. A dark shadow of an arm rose and stopped as it reached the top of David's shadow. Trying to suck in air, David froze when the sickening click of a pistol hammer being cocked echoed in his ear. Trembling uncontrollably, he squeezed his eyes shut.

.

Kendrick stared in disbelief, powerless to stop what was happening. With his head pounding in terror, Kendrick watched Mueller aim his pistol at the prisoner to the right of David. Placing the barrel tip just an inch away from the back of the man's exposed neck, Erick pulled the trigger. The prisoner lurched forward, and dropped lifelessly to the ground.

Without uttering a word, Mueller stepped sideways and stopped behind the second captive.

.

The gunshot startled David. Why didn't he feel any pain? Opening his eyes, he saw the man kneeling beside him topple over like a felled tree. David recoiled in shock.

The tall shadow on the ground shifted to the left. David forced himself to breathe, trying to focus on something, anything, besides the fear roaring through his mind. He gasped when the hammer was cocked back again.

_Oh, God! Oh God!_ With all his strength, David struggled to contain the panic bursting from his heart. He had to be brave. _H_e _had to_.

_Show these bastards you can die like a man._

_._

Kendrick flinched as the second shot echoed through the yard. Another prisoner crumpled to the ground. Now David was the only one left.

_No! This was not what was supposed to happen!_ For God's sake, he'd just found him! What would be the purpose of that miracle if David was murdered right in front of his eyes?

Kendrick felt a rush of anger and frustration. Mueller couldn't do this! Kendrick had to make the right choice, even if it cost him his own life. Staring at his former classmate, Kendrick slowly began slipping the rifle strap off his shoulder.

.

Panting frantically, David tried to swallow. Two men lay dead on either side of him, the thin jets of blood pulsing from their bullet wounds growing smaller and smaller. _Oh God, please let me die quickly!_

Suddenly, David felt the warm end of a metal barrel shoved into the base of his skull. _This was it._ He was going to die. For the last time, he closed his eyes.

.

With the rifle still pointing up, Kendrick froze as Mueller turned and gazed at him. The sinister look on his face meant only one thing. _Somehow, the son of a bitch knows_.

"_Juden_, look!" Mueller called out, scanning the assembled prisoners. "Here are examples of good Jews! Two that are dead, and one that bares his neck to be shot. Take a good look! This is your future!"

Erick looked once more at Kendrick. Seeing the man smile thinly, Kendrick gripped his rifle a little tighter, ready to bring it down level in a heartbeat. _Do it, you bastard, and I will kill you_. Kendrick tensed as Mueller drew the pistol back. Quickly, he arched the gun through the air and clubbed David across the top of his head. David yelped in pain and collapsed to the ground.

Mueller holstered his gun with an arrogant smirk and gestured to the nearest kapo. "Take him to the Sonderkommando block," he instructed. "_Hauptscharführer_ Moll has informed the head Kapo there to be expecting you."

"_Jawohl, Herr Untersturmführer!"_

The kapo signaled to one of his comrades, who came over and helped pick David up. As his friend was dragged away, Kendrick released the air he'd been holding and sucked in a deep breath. His hands and arms were shaking. Had he really come that close to shooting Mueller? Seeing Erick coming towards him, Kendrick quickly slipped the rifle strap back on.

"Good way to start the day, isn't it?" Erick quipped.

Kendrick tried to summon a weak smile. The anger inside of him wanted to boil over, yet to unleash it now on this monster would be pointless. "Yes, of course," Kendrick said, gritting his teeth.

Smiling broadly, Mueller said, "You know, last night, I went into town to watch a movie. I don't recall the name, but the Marx Brothers were in it. Very funny bunch of comedians—considering they're all Jews."

Kendrick narrowed his eyes, hating the man.

"But, do you know who my favorite one is?" he asked.

"No, I don't," Kendrick said dryly.

"Harpo. I like him." Mueller slapped him on the back. "Well, duty calls." He started to leave, then stopped. "Oh, you should come by my office later…we'll have lunch, yes?"

"Of course."

Mueller nodded in acknowledgement then got back into his staff car. As the vehicle drove away, Kendrick shook off the odd mention of Harpo Marx and searched for Jakob among the dispersing crowds of prisoners. The old man was still standing in the same spot, looking at David's abandoned bowl lying on the ground with such utter despair on his face.

Kendrick reached inside of his coat and fingered the package he'd prepared. His feeling of relief was overwhelming, yet curtailed by a sense of uncontrollable rage and spitefulness. Mueller had orchestrated this whole event just to prove a point—that he knew Kendrick's secret. Now David had been taken away, two innocent men had perished, and Jakob…Jakob was on his own. Kendrick had no one to blame but himself. _When?_ When was he going to learn who he was dealing with in this sick war?

"I'm sorry, David," he muttered. "Oh God, I'm sorry."

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

.

**Chapter 30**

**.**

_"Dear finder of these notes, I have one request of you, which is, in fact, the practical objective for my writing...that my days of Hell, that my hopeless tomorrow will find a purpose in the future. I am transmitting only a part of what happened in the Birkenau-Auschwitz Hell. You will realize what reality looked like...From all this you will have a picture of how our people perished."_

_Zalmen Gradowski_

Killed in the Sonderkommando Revolt, October 1944

.

David's head was still spinning when the guards supporting him stopped in front of a long section of high wooden fencing. While one of them spoke briefly to a soldier stationed at the gate, David ignored the exchange and glanced around the area. It looked like other places in camp, with rows of barracks lined on either side of the road, but the fenced section that partitioned the yard was unfamiliar.

The guard opened the gate and called to someone inside the compound. Within a few seconds, a prisoner wearing his number on normal clothes arrived. He nodded politely and stood stiffly waiting for orders.

"Take care of him," the man said, grabbing David and shoving him in.

David staggered, still very unsteady on his feet and would have fallen if the prisoner hadn't caught hold of him. Once past the gate, David could see there were two more barracks with a smaller building between them. At the entrance to the first barrack, he walked up three steps and went inside. It looked similar to his, except that the bunks here had two tiers instead of three, but that wasn't the only difference. Each of these beds had mattresses, along with blankets and pillows!

"This is your bunk," the man escorting him said quietly, then left him alone.

Seeing the soft bed before him, David had to lie down. The comfort of a real mattress and pillow was almost indescribable. For years he'd been sleeping on wooden planks coated with a thin layer of straw. Now he felt as if he was lying on a thick pad of cotton, even if the mattress was stuffed with straw. The luxurious softness of the pillow gently cushioned his head, almost making it stop hurting. David closed his eyes and let himself relish the moment. _Maybe Papa can be assigned here, too…_

After a few minutes, the prisoner who'd brought him inside returned. "My name is Moishe," he said, introducing himself. "What's your name?"

"David. David Starsky." He flinched; just the action of speaking caused his head to pound. "Where am I?"

"You're in Block 13, Sonderkommando quarters," Moishe answered. "Are you hungry? I can get you something to eat or drink. We even have some liquor, if you'd prefer that."

David did a double take. He'd either just died or his head injury was so severe he was hearing things. Before he could answer, another prisoner, dressed similarly to Moishe, arrived.

"Is this the new man?" he asked in Yiddish, giving David a scornful look.

"Yes," Moishe answered.

"Well, get a move on. The Kapo will be here for him shortly. I hope he's a cleverer Pole than the rest of them."

David watched him walk away. Since he didn't have a colored triangle or letter on his shirt, David couldn't tell what his nationality was. It sure as hell wasn't Polish.

"What did he mean?" David asked.

Moishe smiled. "Don't let what Leon said upset you. He just doesn't like Poles." Moishe leaned over to an adjoining bunk and grabbed a leather rucksack. He pulled out a small package and removed the thin wrapping.

_Is that really…cheese?_

Breaking off a large chunk, Moishe offered the piece to David. "Would you like some? It's from Holland, and very good."

David took the delicacy and stuffed the entire piece in his mouth. It was like eating a creamy dessert in a fine restaurant. Smacking his lips shamelessly, David savored every bite.

"Where do you get things like this to eat?" he asked, wiping the last tidbits off his teeth with his finger.

"We 'organize' them…from the transports," Moishe answered. "Well, not so much me and Leon, but the others in the kommando; they share what they find. We usually stay here all day. That's our job, barrack orderlies. We make the beds, clean the showers and latrines…they're next door, in case you need to use them, between our barracks and the penal company."

David shook his head, but not too hard, and tried to clear his thoughts. "I don't understand. You're Jews, aren't you?" Moishe nodded his head. "Then, how is it that you have mattresses and pillows, and _real_ food to eat?"

The young man dipped his head. "In our kommando, everything is better. But there is one drawback…none of us will be getting out of here alive."

David swallowed hard. "Well, of course," he said matter-of-factly. "We're in a concentration camp—"

"You stupid Yid!" Leon had returned, sounding even more scornful than when he'd left. "Don't you know where you're at, you dumb shit? You're in Auschwitz! People don't just die here, they're _exterminated_."

David sprung to his feet and nearly butted chests with the big man. "Well, thank you for that bit of news," he said, trying not to let the dizziness overwhelm him. "I wasn't sure what to call what happened a few minutes ago to those two poor bastards kneeling beside me!"

The man gave a smirky grin. "You think seeing two people killed is something? Wait until you see two thousand die—in less than ten minutes!" Turning to Moishe, he said, "Karol is here. He's waiting by the gate." Leon nodded towards the doorway, and then walked away.

Moishe looked sheepishly at David. "Karol is one of our Kapos. He can be very mean, so make sure you do as he says. He'll take you over to the crematorium." He went to leave, but stopped. Peering over his shoulder, he said, "Whatever you see today, just remember, you'll get use to it. Believe me, we all have."

Bewildered, David followed him back outside to where the guard was posted. Still trying to process what Leon and Moishe said, David felt very apprehensive about what kind of work lay in store for him. Papa was also on his mind. His father was probably doubly sick with worry about him.

When David reached the gate, Moishe handed off him to the guard. Stepping out of the compound, David looked at the prisoner waiting outside, presumably the Karol he was supposed to report to. Karol was a muscular, heavy-set man with narrow eyes and a sour look. Based on what Moishe had said, David wondered if Karol kept his strength up by beating prisoners.

Karol jerked his head. "Follow me. You'll be shown what to do," he said brusquely.

David nodded and fell in behind the kapo and his SS guard. Leaving the fenced-off area, David thought about the kind of work he'd be forced to do. He was fairly certain he'd be handling dead bodies, but a nagging uneasiness hung over him, fueled by many emerging questions. Why was his new barracks so heavily guarded and completely cut off from all the others? What 'transports' was Moishe talking about? And what had Leon meant? Two thousand people killed in ten minutes? Had he seen some kind of mass shooting in camp?

All those questions quickly faded as David approached the same pair of buildings he'd seen when he had first arrived in Birkenau. Stopping at the barbed wire entrance, he looked warily at the large building in front of him. The red roof matched the color of the brick walls, and the large chimney jutting out from the middle made the building resemble a factory. Thick clouds of yellowish-grey smoke billowed out of the tall smokestack, its peculiar, sweetish odor burning his sinuses and throat. But that wasn't the most disconcerting thing about this place. As the two guards opened the gate to allow him and Karol into the yard, he could hear a low but powerful rumbling from inside the building. It sounded like a massive inferno, as if the kingdom of hell lay just behind the outer walls.

Karol led him around to the side of the building. They walked along a worn pathway until they reached a small concrete platform where a brick staircase led underground. Descending the steps, David entered what looked like a huge undressing room. Countless pieces of clothing were draped on pegs inserted in the walls. More clothing, neatly folded, lay on white wooden benches set against the plaster-coated walls. Additional wood plank seats surrounded each of the large concrete support columns that lined the center of the hall. Shoes of all kinds and sizes had been left underneath the crude seats on the smooth cement floor, their previous owners nowhere in sight.

Down the entire length of the room, hundreds of bright yellow Stars of David dotted the scene like strange wildflowers. A small group of prisoners were at work gathering up bundled clothing. They paid little attention to David as he walked by.

At the entrance to a narrow foyer, David saw signs posted all over the walls. "To the Baths and Disinfection Rooms," and slogans such as "Cleanliness is Good," and "Lice can Kill" were written in several languages. _So, where were all the people who had undressed here? Were they taking a shower in another room?_

He felt a heavy sense of foreboding when he rounded the next corner. It wasn't just the pungent odor lingering in the air. This place was too quiet and empty. Other than the low rumbling coming from upstairs, and the muffled sounds of prisoners working, there was no one around. Following Karol, David's attention shifted to another sign moments before they entered a small alcove.

"Hey! Watch where you're going!"

David stumbled backward as a Sonderkommando prisoner nearly ran into him. Preparing to mutter an apology, David immediately stopped when he saw what the man was doing. He was dragging a dead woman across the floor using a walking cane hooked around her neck. The female's naked body was slick and wet, making her skin glisten under the bright arc lamps. Her shoulder length hair was tousled wildly around her head and streaks of blood trickled from her nose. David froze in horror when his eyes landed on what the Sonderkommando carried in his other hand. An infant girl dangled by one arm like a rag doll, her tiny foot barely scraping the ground as the man trudged by. David clamped his jaws tight, trying not to scream when he saw the infant's crushed and deformed head.

"You!" Karol cried, striking David's arm with his club. "Do what he's doing—in there!"

Cringing from the blow, David looked to where the Kapo was pointing with his club. A thick wooden door was open, revealing another underground chamber. As he stepped closer to the entrance, David's fear skyrocketed. All he could see were masses of naked people, arms and legs so grotesquely twisted and intertwined that he couldn't tell where one body ended and another began. They were all dead, piled in heaps several feet high inside the concrete compartment. The acrid stench drifting from the entrance left no doubt he was staring at the inside of a gas chamber.

_Oh God, this can't be real!_

David took a few more shaky steps forward. Not far from the doorway, a team of prisoners wearing rubber boots were hauling a large water hose and spraying down the closest piles of bodies. He peered further into this pit of death but couldn't even see the back wall. There had to be hundreds and hundreds of dead people in here!

Filled with disgust and rising fear, David reluctantly entered the low ceilinged room. He raised his arm to shield his nose. The humid air, laden with leftover traces of a bitter odor and the foul smell of urine and feces, made breathing difficult. Where the victims hadn't yet been hosed down, he could see many had died a violent death. Blood oozed from noses, ears and mouths. Fecal matter was smeared everywhere; bodies, faces, even on the floor and walls. One man looked as though his ear had been ripped off; another next to him had an eye gouged out. David quickly turned away from the gory sight, fighting the urge to vomit.

Knowing he had to do something to prevent being struck again, David bent over and grabbed hold of a wet leg. He gave a firm tug, but the body barely moved. Using both hands, he braced himself on the slick floor and pulled harder. Suddenly, he lost his grip and fell backwards, landing smack on top of a corpse being pulled out by another prisoner. A grisly rattle escaped from the victim's mouth, and David immediately sprung back onto his feet.

"You dumb shit! That's not how to cart stiffs!" the Sonderkommando yelled. He gestured to the belt he had looped around his corpse's ankle. "You don't use your hands, the limbs are too slippery!"

Still shaking from fright, David held out both arms. "I don't have anything to use…I just got here." He shied away from the man's glare. David didn't want to cry, but right now it seemed the only thing he was capable of doing.

The prisoner huffed impatiently. "Here, take this and follow me," he griped, handing David the small child he was carrying.

David reached out mechanically and grabbed hold of the young boy's arm. For a moment, he couldn't decide whether to cradle the naked body or simply drag it like a sack of potatoes. One glance at the pummeled face almost made David choose the later, but he couldn't do that. He slipped his other arm underneath the child's legs and cradled the broken body. Keeping his eyes forward, David dutifully followed his instructor.

At the end of the short hallway, there was a recess in the wall. A wide metal lift, similar to a dumbwaiter, rested on the floor. The prisoner pulled his corpse onto the platform, then took the boy from David's arms and plopped the small body down on the floor.

"We wait until the elevator is full of adults, then load the children on top," he said as if he were talking about freight, not people.

Stunned, David turned and followed the Sonderkommando into the undressing room. _Who were these prisoners? Didn't they have any respect for the dead? _David briefly wondered if these men were even Jews at all. Maybe they were Russians or Czechs, but so far everyone he had met spoke Yiddish. Pushing his thoughts aside, David watched his coworker examine a few stacks of folded clothing.

Pulling out a leather belt from a pair of trousers, he handed it to David, giving him a head to toe inspection. "You really want to keep wearing those rags?" he asked.

David glanced at his striped shirt. "You mean, I don't have to wear these in here?" he asked.

The man shook his head. "Look around you…does it look like the owners of these clothes still need them? Hurry up and find something that will fit. Don't worry about it lasting too long. If you're still alive after a few months, you can look for a new outfit."

David opened his mouth, wanting to ask a question, then changed his mind. The men in this kommando were obviously very different from any others he'd ever worked with. Perhaps the best thing would be to talk only if he had to.

"Whatever you find, don't forget your number goes on the top and bottom," the Sonderkommando continued. "Then go see a foreman or Kapo. They'll paint stripes on you; like this." He turned sideways and pointed over his shoulder. A large red 'X' was brushed on the back of his shirt. He extended his leg and showed David a long red stripe running down the outside of his pant seam. "It's so the Germans will know who we are. That way they'll be sure who to shoot first."

David balked at the black humor, but figured the man probably wasn't trying to be funny.

"Get going! Quickly!" he yelled, nodding towards the piles of clothes. "Don't let them ever catch you not working." He extended his index finger and pointed upstairs. "Otherwise, the Nazis get very creative," he said slyly, raising his eyes to the ceiling.

The Sonderkommando left, leaving David standing by himself. He looked at the belt in his hand and started sifting through the clothing on the bench beside him. David's hands shook as he fumbled with a pair of pants. _Someone had worn these just a few hours ago!_ He wanted to scream in utter frustration and fear, unable to process what was going on in this basement. Fearing he'd go crazy at any moment, David struggled for control over his frenzied emotions. _Where in hell was he? _Life in a concentration camp was hard and brutal, but this…what he'd just seen in the other room was beyond comprehension or explanation. And the other prisoners just talked in riddles, as if what they were doing was not a bit unusual!

Swallowing his fear, David concentrated on changing out of his detested camp garments. For the moment, he'd just do as he was told and not think about anything—especially the dead victims in the other room. He didn't want to linger on the fact that they certainly had not come from another concentration camp. They had been too well dressed, too 'fat' actually, to have spent time in a camp. No, they'd come from home, wherever that 'home' had been.

David slipped on a pair of trousers, and buttoned up a shirt he'd selected. Before tossing his old garments away, he tore off the numbered patches and stuck them in his pocket. For a second, he indulged in the relatively new smell and crispness of his new clothing. Pushing that luxury away, he picked up the belt and reluctantly headed back into the mouth of hell.

* * *

Kendrick kept his eye on Jakob, patiently waiting for the right moment when he could get close enough to talk to him. Jakob had lined up with the rest of the prisoners and received his ration of coffee. Preferring not to guess at what the older man must be thinking, Kendrick concentrated on following through with his newly hatched plan; which wasn't going to be easy. Jakob and David probably wanted him gutted and quartered. And why not? No sooner had Kendrick reentered their lives than father and son were separated. Why wouldn't they hate him more now than just a few days ago?

Seeing an opportunity emerge as Jakob finished his coffee and stepped away from the other prisoners, Kendrick hustled over to him.

When he saw Kendrick approaching, Jakob nervously glanced around, as if he wanted to find a place he could retreat to. Fortunately, Kendrick had that option covered.

"You!" Kendrick shouted, pretending he was angry. "What's your number?"

Jakob instantly removed his cap and bowed his head. "Sir, 101538," he replied, coming to attention.

"I thought I recognized you. Follow me right now!"

Kendrick caught sight of a Kapo looking his way, but knew the man wouldn't interfere with the order from an SS guard. Jakob slapped his cap back on and quickly fell in behind Kendrick. They marched past a few barracks until Kendrick found an unoccupied latrine building. Going inside, the stench of urine and feces nearly made him gag. Swatting away a couple of flies, he took a quick look around to make sure they were alone. He pulled the package of goods out of his jacket and showed it to Jakob.

"I…I don't know what to say," Kendrick began, "But the only reason I was at roll call this morning was to let David know that I wanted to help him, to help you both. That officer who shot those two prisoners, somehow he must have discovered that David and I were friends."

Jakob slowly raised his head. He glanced at the package and then at Kendrick. "Where is my son?" he asked.

"I don't know," Kendrick lied, although he had little doubt where David was working ever since Erick mentioned Moll's name. "But I think he's been assigned to a special kommando."

"Can you assign me to work with him?" Jakob asked hopefully.

Kendrick shook his head. "I don't have that authority."

Jakob's eyes dimmed. "I see. Maybe, when he returns tonight, David will know who to ask."

Anguish tore through Kendrick at Jakob's naivety. This wasn't the best time, but he couldn't let David's father think he'd be with his son tonight. "Jakob, I don't believe…" Seeing Jakob's face fall, Kendrick steadied himself and took a deep breath. He offered the wrapped bundle again to Jakob. "Here, take this—please. I have to go talk to somebody. I can't promise anything, but I'll try to get both of you together again."

Kendrick smiled sincerely, hoping Jakob would at least trust him to do what he could. Warily, Jakob accepted the parcel and stuffed it inside of his shirt. Satisfied, Kendrick started to leave, but stopped before he'd taken a step.

"I was wondering, is Hannah here also? Have you seen her lately?" Jakob looked down to the floor as his face grew tight. It was enough to convince Kendrick that the very worst had happened. "Oh God, I'm sorry. I didn't know—"

"We haven't seen her since leaving Majdanek," Jakob said, meeting Kendrick's eyes at last. "David believes that she…that his wife is dead."

Stunned, Kendrick replied, "His wife? They were married?"

"Yes. About four years ago. They also had a son."

Jakob fell silent, and his body bowed forward. Kendrick didn't even know what to ask first. David had been a father! The bittersweet news was hard to accept. Wanting to learn what had happened, Kendrick realized it would be some time before he heard the whole story. In the meanwhile, there were other more pressing things to attend to. "I promise I'll get your son back, Jakob," he vowed.

Not waiting for a response, Kendrick left the latrine and glanced around to make sure he wasn't observed. With no other guards in the area, he quickly headed to his post. The only thing on his mind was the lunch date planned for later.

.

**Chapter 31**

**.**

Promptly at noon, Kendrick arrived at the administration building and made his way down the hallway to the offices of the Political Department. Within a few minutes, he was standing in front of Erick Mueller's desk.

"Kendrick! I'm surprised to see you," he said, rising up from his chair.

"Well, you did tell me to come," Kendrick replied, eying the monster standing in front of him with an even higher level of repugnance than he had previously.

"Ah, of course. Lunch, if memory serves me correctly?"

"Yes, _Untersturmführer_."

Erick shook his head contemptuously. "Now, what did I tell you? First names, Kendrick, first names."

A quarter of an hour later, both men were sitting down at a table in the SS cafeteria. The rustic interior usually reminded Kendrick of the times he'd spent at summer camp with the Hitler Youth; a good memory he no doubt needed today. The building had no ceiling, just thin planks nailed to trusses that supported a shingled roof. Several large, bowl-shaped lamps hung from the rafters, connected by cables to metal conduits that ran like straight silver snakes along the wooden framework. And just like the earlier cafeteria, the constant clanging of pots in the kitchen made eating in the crudely furnished dining room seem more like a chore than a reprieve from work.

Today, lunch was fairly basic—cabbage, potatoes and chops. The boiled vegetables were a little limp for Kendrick's taste, but the meat was cooked well and seasoned. Although irksome for Kendrick, his and Mueller's conversation had been light. Talk had touched on everything from logistical problems Erick needed to surmount to brief recollections of their academy days. Kendrick didn't try to push his old classmate for clues on how he'd uncovered certain aspects of Kendrick's personal life; like his secret friendship with David, or the alias he'd used when writing letters to Skozenka. Certainly, Erick had been exceptionally cunning or just damn lucky in that respect. But with the clock ticking and David's life at stake, it was time for Kendrick to show his hand.

"Erick, I have a favor to ask," Kendrick proposed grudgingly, removing the napkin from his lap and placing it on the table. "That prisoner you sent to work in the crematorium this morning, I was wondering if there might be another kommando he could be assigned to instead."

The sly lift of Erick's eyebrows and his smug expression instantly tugged at Kendrick's patience. Needing to play by this sadist's rules stripped him of any advantage and left him particularly vulnerable. Not to mention, angry.

"You mean, _the Jew_…"

Kendrick bit his tongue. _Oh, to slam a fist into that arrogant face._ "Yes, 'the Jew,'" he answered brusquely.

Erick leaned back in his chair, keeping an eye on Kendrick. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket and offered one to him.

"No, thank you," Kendrick said.

Erick shrugged his shoulders and placed a cigarette in his mouth. After lighting it, he took a long drag and slowly exhaled the smoke from the side of his mouth. "This Jew…he must mean something to you," Erick asked, his eyes narrowing.

Kendrick cleared his throat. "Yes, I've known him for a long time. He's a good man, and a hard worker."

Erick chuckled. "They're all hard workers. That's why they're here. We don't have use for unproductive slaves."

Kendrick grit his teeth, trying to keep control over his rising temper. Resting his arms on the table, he said, "What I mean, _Herr_ Mueller, is that he can do a good job in any other work detail; he and his father. I can attest for both of them."

Erick kept silent and took another puff. "Why is he so special? I mean, he's filth. Doesn't deserve to even live. Yet, you seem to think he's actually worth something." Erick leaned forward, like a tiger crouching before attacking its prey. "What is that 'something', huh? Tell me."

If Kendrick didn't know any better, he could've sworn he was looking straight at the Devil himself. But he couldn't back down from this fight.

"That man you almost killed today has been like a brother to me," Kendrick admitted. "His loyalty to family and those close to him is as strong as what I've seen in the highest levels of the SS." He paused, drawing on his deep anger to keep speaking rationally. "You may just see a Jew, an _untermensch, _but that's not how I'd define him. He's a man of honor and courage. And if there was one person I'd want fighting by my side in the heaviest battle." Kendrick extended his index finger to emphasize his point. "It would him."

Erick remained hunched forward, elbows resting on the table. Taking one last drag of his cigarette, he extinguished the butt. "You seem to have a lot of admiration for this _friend_," he sneered, expelling the smoke from his lungs. "I must admit, I've never known another German, especially a fellow SS, who would even acknowledge such a relationship."

Kendrick felt his cheeks flush. Not because of embarrassment, because Erick wasn't paying him a compliment, but more from a sense of pride. Ever since knowing David, Kendrick had never mentioned their close friendship to any Nazi. Willy, of course, had known, but that was different. Back then, Kendrick didn't know if David was alive or dead, and Willy was only a private, not the high-ranking officer who'd just heard him denouncing faith in Hitler's ideology.

With his neck on the chopping block, Kendrick remained silent. Warily, he kept an eye on the fanatical racist sitting across the table holding a proverbial axe.

Finally, Mueller sat back, as if weary of the stalemate. "I heard a major say once," he began, "that even the most anti-Semitic man knows of one Jew that he likes. I can't say I've met one yet, but this..._prisoner_…who you speak so highly of, he must be your favorite."

"Yes," Kendrick answered softly.

Shaking his head, Erick snatched his hat off the table. He quickly stood up, causing Kendrick to do the same. "Well," he said, slipping his hat on, "I guess you'll have good memories, then, of your Jew."

Astonished, Kendrick blurted out, "_Herr Untersturmführer_! I…I want to—"

"Stop," Mueller ordered, holding his hand up. He scanned the area around them. Finding no one within earshot, he continued, "There's nothing I can do. Do you understand? Your Jew is a _geheimnistrager_ now. He has seen things that the Reich doesn't wish to be revealed to outsiders. He can't be allowed to survive. None of them can." Erick paused for a moment to smile weakly at another officer passing by. "Trust me," he added, "it will be better for you to forget about him. No Sonderkommando will ever leave here, or any other camp, alive. Those are Himmler's orders, not mine."

Erick turned and hastily left the building. Kendrick stood paralyzed, unwilling to believe that he'd risked everything appealing to the last person he could, only to have the door slammed in his face. Pulling himself together, he put his hat on and gathered his rifle. There had to be something he could do! Somewhere, somehow, there had to be a solution. Finding David alive, in and of itself, had been a miracle. What Kendrick needed to do, was find a way to make another one happen, and soon.

* * *

David lay curled up on his bunk, a wool blanket covering most of his head. Totally exhausted, he closed his eyes, hoping to give his mind a chance to escape all the horrors he'd seen in the last few days. But restful sleep eluded him in this place. Nightmares constantly appeared, replaying unspeakable images, one right after the other. The worst were scenes of little children, initially held back until the gas chambers were fully packed. The SS officers would take each naked child and shove them in on top of the doomed adults. Once the gas flooded the chamber and the lights were switched off, a futile fight for survival started inside the sealed room.

Afterwards, every time David went in to remove the piles of bodies, he'd see the same thing. On top were those victims in the prime of life, who had fought and clawed their way towards the ceiling, where the last pockets of untainted air lingered before becoming saturated with gas. Underneath the top layer of corpses were teenagers and other adults. Then on the bottom, trampled from the masses trying to gain a foothold, were the elderly and the very young. With the memory of their heart-wrenching screams driving him frantic, David could only wrap his arms around himself until the ghastly sounds and visions gradually receded.

He had never felt so completely alone and helpless, even surrounded by a barrack full of other prisoners. Between the living hell that filled his waking hours, and the misery lying in wait to torment his subconscious each night, David's life held no respite. He longed to have Jakob beside him, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder and bestowing attention that only a father could give. Papa would know what to say to chase the fear away. He'd know how to get David thinking about better things—liberation; a life without the painful welts from beatings; meals with meat and no rotten potatoes; and coffee, so rich and dark that it stimulated an appetite instead of curtailing one.

But Jakob wasn't here.

David blinked a few times. If only he could produce one tear, more would follow and help drain the shattered spirit from his body that no longer wanted to live there. But crying, like sleep, eluded him, too. Perhaps, he could weep without tears…

"David?"

It was Moishe. He was standing by the foot of David's bed, holding what looked like cake in his hands. "I brought you some sweet bread. I thought you might be hungry since you didn't eat earlier."

David buried his head deeper into the pillow. What was Moishe thinking? That eating cake would make everything better? "Eat, laugh, and rejoice, for tomorrow we die?" David sighed. His days were numbered, probably even fewer than he imagined. Though there were a few Sonderkommando who'd been living in this hell for years, witnessing the Jewish population be reduced to ash, it wasn't likely David would achieve that level of seniority.

His ruminations were interrupted as Moishe came closer and sat on the adjoining bunk. "I know you don't feel like eating, but you need to keep your strength up—"

"Why?" David asked hotly, resenting the intrusion. "What does it matter? If I die, they'll just replace me with someone else."

David rolled onto his back. He was tired of asking 'why' anymore, especially here, in a place where 'why' had ceased to matter a long time ago. The cynical attitudes of these men were perfectly understandable now. "This is our fate, we are doomed to die," David would hear them say. He doubted that fate had anything to do with their lot, but he _was_ sure of one thing.

Staring at Moishe, he said, "The Nazis want us dead. Why give them the satisfaction of seeing me suffer one more day?"

The young man dropped his head. His long eyelashes fluttered as he bit his lower lip in contemplation. Finally, his eyes opened wide and he sat up straight. "Think of it as showing them you have _survived _one more day, despite what they've thrown at you."

"And that's going to change their minds about us?" David asked incredulously.

"No, but unlike those Jews who walk blindly into the gas chambers, we have a chance to fight. Maybe not with rifles and guns, but with our hearts and minds."

David shook his head. "Sounds very noble, but in the end you'll be just as dead."

"So what are you waiting for?" Moishe scolded. "Why don't you go run to the wire? End your life right now?" He stood up and placed both hands on his hips. "When I first came here, I watched as my family was driven away in trucks from the train. The next day, I asked a Kapo if he knew where they might be. He gave me a stupid grin and pointed to the chimneys." Moishe mimicked the gesture. "'See the smoke', he said, 'there is your family.' I couldn't believe it! Who would have imagined something so horrible? But when I came to the Sonderkommando, I learned the truth. We mustn't go willingly, like our brothers and sisters did, but fight these monsters instead!"

"Moishe!" David jerked around. Leon was standing behind him, along with two others. "We agreed, no new people," the orderly threatened.

"I didn't say anything," Moishe grumbled. He looked at the piece of cake in his hand then thrust it at David. "Do you want this or not?" he demanded.

David considered the offer, but turned it down.

"I have work to do, then," Moishe said and pushed his way past the other men.

Leon watched him leave, and then eyed David suspiciously. "He's right. You don't like it here, then go electrocute yourself. We don't have any use for weaklings."

A fire burned in the pit of David's stomach as Leon and the others turned and walked away. _Scheisse, what was wrong with him? Is that really what he was saying? That he wanted to kill himself?_ Visions of when he'd last seen Michael played through his mind. His cousin had fought against men twice his size when he was captured. Michael could've been killed, but he didn't let that stop him. And Uncle Emir. Unarmed, he'd taken on an SS soldier. And Papa. He couldn't physically fight, but mentally he was battling the Nazis with everything he had. And lastly, sweet Isaac. His little angel had survived longer than everyone said he would. All of the Starsky men had fought against these bastards, each in their own way.

_And what are you doing? Just lying here wrapped up in self pity, and crying 'woe is me'!_

David raised his hands and vigorously rubbed his face. He couldn't let his family down, not after the sacrifices everyone had made. And Hannah. She didn't marry a quitter. She'd always told him how safe she felt with him beside her. Hannah would never lie.

Taking a deep breath, David tried to pull himself together. He got up and walked over to where Moishe was making the beds for the men who were working the night shift.

"Hey," David called, getting the young man's attention, "Still got some of that sweet bread?"

* * *

Kendrick steadied himself. He watched as the line of prisoners slowly made their way past the soup cauldrons, each receiving his daily ration. Kendrick had spotted Jakob and was just waiting for the right moment to approach him and talk. But this was one conversation neither would be thankful for.

Kendrick had spent the last week running all kinds of options through his head, trying to come up with a plan to get David reassigned to another work detail. But all that effort had led to nothing; Kendrick had found no miracle. His last option of transferring Jakob into the Sonderkommando, a task in and of itself nearly impossible, would've been completely undesirable.

The situation made Kendrick question his past strategy of not ascending the ladder of rank. Maybe if he'd pursued rising to the level of lieutenant or captain, he'd be in a better position to help David. But if Erick had been truthful about those orders coming from Himmler, then nothing short of taking over Hitler's spot would have done any good.

Releasing a frustrated sigh, Kendrick saw his chance and went over to Jakob.

"Did you find my son?" the older man asked, recognizing Kendrick. His pale face even seemed to brighten.

"I know where he's at," Kendrick answered, "but I can't do anything about it." Seeing the hope drain out of Jakob tore at Kendrick's heart. "I tried, I really tried," he said, wondering if Jakob even believed him.

The older man looked down at his soup. "Could you speak to him? Tell him…that I am well?"

Kendrick gazed at Jakob. He wasn't a doctor, but it didn't take a medical degree to see that David's father was seriously ill.

"Did you eat anything in the package I gave you?" Kendrick asked. Maybe if Jakob kept getting better food, or some medicine...

Jakob shook his head. "There were others who needed the food more than me." He took a sip of the soup, then lifted his eyes. "But your gracious donation was appreciated."

"Jakob, _you_ should've eaten that—"

A slight rising of the Jew's hand made Kendrick hold his tongue. "I don't think food will help cure my problem," Jakob admitted. "It's David I worry about. He's been through so much…"

Kendrick turned his head away. It was the only privacy he could offer as tears began rolling down Jakob's cheeks. The pain Kendrick saw only left him feeling more dismayed at what David must have gone through since he'd last seen him. Probably more anguish and heartbreak than Kendrick wanted to know. He glanced back at Jakob.

"I checked through everything I could find, trying to see if Hannah was here at Auschwitz or in one of the sub camps," Kendrick ventured. "I didn't find any other Starskys except you and David. I even checked under her maiden name." Kendrick sighed deeply. "I wish I could've brought you some good news."

Jakob dragged a palm across his face, wiping off his tears. "I'm sure that David would thank you, if he was here." He swallowed the last mouthful from his bowl and dabbed his lips on the end of his sleeve. "If you should see my son again, tell him that I've asked Yahweh to watch over him. And you, too, Kendrick."

Taken aback, Kendrick stood frozen as Jakob left to join the gathering kommandos. War was hell, but, sometimes, never for the reasons that one would think…

.

_September, 1944_

David stood with his back to the wall, waiting for the next transport of prisoners to enter the undressing room. Beside him were other Sonderkommando, each one probably thinking the same thing he was. Out of all the dreaded tasks in this godforsaken pit, this was the worst. David would have to cut himself off from his humanity; literally pretend he was someone else. For in just a few moments, groups of innocent people would be entering this basement, thinking their lives had been spared and they'd be going to work. David's job was to keep them calm, tell them hot coffee was being prepared and that the faster they got done with their shower, the quicker they'd be reunited with their families. Of course, what he wasn't allowed to say was the only thing hot waiting for these victims was the furnaces, and their family reunions wouldn't be taking place here on earth.

The majority of Jews, as the gas chambers were purely meant for them and no one else, would believe the lies. But inevitably, there'd be a few doubters, or 'realists' as David liked to think of them. These individuals had to be quickly separated from the others, lest they interrupt the smooth flow of the industrialized killing process. Whisked away to a secluded area such as the autopsy room, two Sonderkommando would have to restrain each one while an SS man shot the nonconformist in the back of the head.

David's mind shifted to the present as the sound of dogs barking and guards yelling erupted from down the hall. Shortly afterwards, the first victims started coming down the staircase. Wearing striped uniforms, they walked slowly and deliberately, their frightened eyes opened wide and staring at everything. Obviously, people from this camp. No doubt they'd heard the rumors of what lay beneath these buildings, and soon they'd be seeing it for themselves. Too bad none would ever get the chance to tell others of their gruesome discovery.

Following this first group came more prisoners. But these looked sicker, as if they'd come from the hospital. Their eyes were focused more to the front, as if they had blinders on. These people knew the truth. Faced with living the last minutes of their lives, their minds were only processing the barest amount of input. Deep inside, they'd already died. It was just a matter of waiting for their bodies to do the same.

As David watched dozens more come down the stairs, he was somewhat put at ease. There'd be no need to lie to them. At worst, a few might ask if being gassed to death hurt or how long would it take. David, like the rest of the Sonderkommando, would answer in the same way. _No, it doesn't hurt; you'll just close your eyes and go to sleep._ The reasoning was simple: why upset them anymore? These poor souls had already been through unbearable suffering. It would be cruel to add one more second of torment to their wretched lives. At least that's what David believed.

More and more people kept arriving. By now, there had to be at least several hundred in the subterranean chamber. Since summer had ended, the large transports had stopped coming. Back then, David had worked shifts where 2,500 were killed in one day, just in his crematorium. Since there were three other gas chambers in Birkenau, that meant nearly 10,000 victims. Murdering so many didn't take very long; what did take time was burning all the bodies. During those heavy periods, the excess dead were taken to large outdoor pyres and burned there. Sometimes, the Nazis didn't even bother gassing them first. Usually the elderly, crippled and the very young would be thrown straight into the fiery pits. For nights afterward, David would hear their screams echoing in his memories.

With the changing room nearly filled, the final bunch of stragglers crept down the staircase. Most of those already present had begun the task of taking off their clothes. David walked out into their midst, mentally preparing to recite his repertoire of lies, when his eye caught a few men who were the last to arrive. Among these pitiful figures were _muselmanner_, practically walking skeletons. Severely emancipated and exhausted, they'd wander aimlessly in camp, completely apathetic and unresponsive to the world around them. Death was their salvation, only it never came fast enough. Other prisoners detested them; probably fearing they were looking at future visions of themselves.

Almost ready to turn his back on them also, David felt inexplicably compelled to stop. Taking a closer look, his heart nearly leapt from his chest. Pushing several half naked prisoners aside, David anxiously pressed towards this last group. When he got just a few feet away, he suddenly froze. The man that stood in front of him was barely recognizable, yet all David wanted to do was to throw his arms around the thin figure and hug as hard as he could.

"Papa!"

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 32**

.

"Papa!" David uttered again. Hugging his father, David could feel how much thinner Jakob was, but at least he had him in his arms again.

"_Zuninkeh_," Jakob answered in a frail voice. When they finally separated, David flinched at his father's appearance. Hunched forward, he looked like an old man. His skin was tight and waxy, and a sickly dullness radiated from his eyes.

"Here, Papa, sit down," David replied, nudging another man from the corner of a vacant bench.

Shakily, Jakob extended a bone-thin arm and slowly eased himself down. Just that small movement seemed to take a monumental effort. David knelt comfortably beside him, trying his best to ignore the surreal tapping on his shoulder from the Grim Reaper.

"I've been so worried about you," David said warmly, feeling responsible for the deplorable state his father was in. "I tried to get some food to you…did you get it?"

Jakob lifted his head some, and gazed at David with tired eyes. "Yes," he answered, "but there were others…"

"Papa! You didn't?" David bit his lip. Now wasn't the time for admonishments. "That's okay," he said. "Are you hungry now? Can I get you something to eat?"

David's heart leapt for joy at his father's grateful smile. "It would be good…not to die on an empty stomach."

"Stay right here, I'll be back." Not letting the truth in Papa's statement deter him, David sprang up and rushed towards the stairway.

Since the end of June, all of the Sonderkommando had been moved from their old block to the crematoriums. In this building, that had meant living upstairs in the attic, which sat right over the furnace room. Knowing he only had a few minutes, David hurried outside and over to the ground level entrance. He climbed the narrow staircase into the living quarters and headed straight to his bunk. Grabbing his rucksack, he spilled the contents out on the bed. There had been a decrease in prisoner transports lately, which resulted in fewer caches of food. He hadn't discovered very much in the last week except for a few crackers and a tin of sardines. But David's spirit lifted as he gathered the meager rations to bring to his father.

He stuffed the items in his jacket and ran back downstairs. Returning to the changing room, David's heart sank as he saw Papa struggling to take off his blue and grey striped shirt. He had already shed his dirtied trousers and they lay piled on the floor by his feet.

"Here, Papa," David said, as he sat down beside him. "Let me help you."

Once he'd removed the shirt, David tried not to linger too long looking at Jakob's emaciated body. He took the crackers out of his pocket first and handed them to Papa. Without wasting a second, Jakob snatched up the thin wafers and stuffed them greedily in his mouth. David showed him the sardine can and watched with a satisfied grin as Papa's eyes twinkled a little bit.

"You brought me a meal fit for a king," Jakob praised.

David let the words soak into his heart as he concentrated on peeling back the aluminum lid with the slotted key. The oily fish smell spilled from the container, filling the air around them with the scent and drawing the attention of other prisoners standing nearby. No doubt, they were also devastatingly hungry, yet none of them tried to interfere. Their efforts would have been futile, because as soon as David handed Jakob the tin, he hastily devoured the silvery fish, barely taking any time to chew his food.

With a sense of satisfaction, David watched Papa lavishly lick the inside of the can. He set the empty tin down and finished licking off his fingertips.

"That was the best meal I have ever eaten," Jakob said.

David smiled, but he could see that several of the undressed Jews were already making their way to the gas chamber. "Papa, I…I don't know…"

Jakob raised a boney-knuckled hand and stroked David's cheek. "My time has come, _mayne kaddishel_. But Yahweh has allowed me to see you before I go."

David took hold of Papa's hand, cherishing the pleased look on his father's face. Although he knew they only had a few more moments to spend together, David couldn't think of anything to say.

Jakob shifted uneasily on the bench. "David," he asked solemnly, "the gas…does it hurt?"

Unprepared for Jakob's question, David swallowed hard. He didn't want to lie to his own flesh and blood, but could he really deceive his own father? How could he live if Papa's last feelings were of anguish and hurt? With their time running out, and his conscience in turmoil, David had to make a decision.

"When you go inside the room," he began, "make sure you sit down by one of the metal columns. They're made of wire mesh…" David's voice cracked. "When the lights go out, breathe deep, all right? Breathe very deeply. You'll just go to sleep—"

David jerked his head away. He couldn't keep looking at Papa. How did it come to this, that the only comfort he could give his father was how to make the gas kill him faster? A burning flash of shame ignited through him. He'd vowed to try and survive as long as he could, and not die as a coward. But now, seeing his father ready to step into that horrid chamber was too much to bear. Before he could even consider what he was doing, David stood up and quickly started taking his clothes off.

"David! What are you thinking?"

"You're not going to die without me," David announced. He took a quick glance around, making sure there were no SS nearby. Jakob feebly shook his head, the look of utter heartbreak on his face. Stripped naked, David offered a hand to Jakob. "Come, Papa. A lot of people have been waiting a long time to see us."

Stiffly, Jakob stood up. "How can I die in peace," he cried, clearly distraught, "knowing that you are throwing your life away?"

"It's my life, Papa," David answered curtly, tightening his grip on Papa to hide his own trembling. "And this is how I choose to end it."

Leading Jakob, David ducked his head as he passed by the first SS officer. Fortunately, there was a large crowd heading into the gas chamber, making it hard to see each individual. David pulled Jakob closer and kept his head down. If another Sonderkommando recognized him, David felt certain they wouldn't say anything. The trick would be to get by the two SS officers standing on either side of the narrow entrance; especially one hardened Nazi in particular.

_Hauptscharführer_ Otto Moll was poised by the thick iron-mounted wooden door, eying the condemned prisoners with a smug expression as they entered the concrete chamber. The Sonderkommando called him '_Malahamoves_', Hebrew for 'Angel of Death', and in David's opinion, the monster had earned that title a hundred times over.

Frequently, when they would wait outside for a transport, Moll loved to play his own version of "sport". He'd pull one man aside and stick a lit cigarette in his mouth. Then, he'd pace off about fifty feet, draw his revolver and fire. An excellent shot, Moll often extinguished the cigarette on the first try. After enjoying the accolades from his fellow SS, he'd let the petrified prisoner go. Other times, he'd change hands and fire with his left. Invariably, he'd utter a lame, "_Ach_, I missed!" if the victim dropped to the ground.

Luckily for David, just as he approached the doorway, Moll's attention was diverted by an approaching Kapo. Once inside the chamber, David held firmly onto Jakob and headed for one of the rear columns.

"David, are you sure this is what you want?" Jakob rasped, his whole body shaking from the exertion.

Stopping at the squared metal pillar, David leaned the older man against it so he could rest. "Yes, Papa. My days are numbered here. The Nazis know we've seen too much; they won't take the risk of letting any of us survive. At least this way, I'll die with someone I love, not with a bunch of strangers."

Jakob gazed at him with an intense, almost penetrating, sadness. Slowly, the old eyes turned towards the ceiling. Overhead, a few lights enclosed in protective wire cages illuminated the dreary chamber. "They've even got shower heads in here," Papa noted.

"They're not real," David explained. "It's all part of the ruse. Making people think they're just going to take a shower—"

Two condemned men suddenly stepped out of the growing crowd and approached David, getting his attention.

"Why are you here?" one of them asked, confronting him. "I saw you in the other room. You work here, you're a Sonderkommando!"

Surprised, David said, "I'm not bothering you. Go mind your own business."

The man's partner stepped forward. "We're not accusing you of any wrongdoing. We just want to know why you've decided to die of your own free will."

"I wouldn't call it that," David muttered. In a louder tone, he added, "We're all destined to die, I'm just making the decision myself instead of letting the Nazis do it for me."

"But can't you see?" the first one exclaimed. "We _have_ to die now. You might be one of the lucky ones and survive. Who better than you to avenge our deaths by telling the world how we were murdered?"

"Yes, exactly," said the second. "These Nazi pigs are laughing now, but our people need to survive so that they can see these murdering bastards in their graves!"

Before David could convince them to leave him alone, the two men grabbed his arms and began dragging him through the packed chamber. David tried to resist but, with no shoes on, his bare feet slid freely along the smooth floor and he couldn't get a foothold. Twisting his head around, David caught one last glimpse of Papa.

"God be with you," he heard him say.

Within a few moments, David had been hustled to the front entrance. With one last giant shove, he was tossed out of the chamber only to land smack in the middle of a group of grey uniforms. Karol, the Kapo, was the first to recognize him.

"You bloody shit!" he yelled, and raised his club in the air.

Before David could get on his feet, the blow landed across his shoulders and knocked him back down. He tried to get up again, but a second strike on his back laid him prone. Naked and in pain, David knew he had to get off the floor. But each time he tried to stand, Karol would target another sensitive area and make David double over in agony.

When David could finally stand up, Moll stepped in and grabbed him by the throat. "You fucking Yid!" he swore, spitting in David's face. "Get this through your stupid head: _**we**_ decide how long you stay alive and when you die, not you! Now, piss off, back to work!"

Shaking from head to foot, David stumbled into the dressing room, but not before hearing_ Malahamoves_ issue the gassing command.

"All right, give them something nice to chew on."

.

Somehow, in his dazed state, David found his clothes and managed to slip his pants back on. The pain from Karol's beating, coupled with what was happening to Papa in that chamber, suddenly overwhelmed him. His vision went black, and he fell unconscious to the cement floor.

.

When David came to, he was lying on some bundled bags in one of the store rooms. Short of breath, his heart racing, he let two fellow workers help him up and guide him over to an open window for some fresh air. Still dizzy from his beating, David broke out in a cold sweat, and started shivering uncontrollably. Someone offered him a cigarette. He grabbed it and tried to take a deep inhalation off the lit cigarette. The sharp smoke made him cough, which sent renewed jolts of pain through his body, but he took a second drag and then a third. Gradually, his heartbeat slowed and his muscles quit shaking.

Keeping his attention glued on the lone tree out in the yard, David didn't notice the other men leave. When he heard someone behind him clear his throat, David jerked and turned around, expecting to suffer another beating. Thank goodness, it was one of the Jewish kapos, Kaminski.

"I heard what happened," Kaminski said. "You shouldn't let your nerves get the best of you like that."

David bowed his head. He felt like a failure. "My father was in there," he said, keeping his head down. "I just didn't want him to die alone."

David heard the Kapo give a long sigh. "I can understand how you feel," he said, "but this must never happen again." Kaminski stepped closer. "Now listen to me, you wouldn't want to please our tormentors by dying without putting up a fight…"

David peered up at him. He'd been hearing rumors of a resistance movement, a plan to revolt and escape en masse from the camp. Was this what Kaminski was alluding to?

"We need to be strong, David. Our day is coming. When it arrives, we will show these dogs that we are men, and that we Jews are not afraid to fight."

Kaminski put his hand on David's shoulder, but didn't say anything else. Disappointed that the Kapo wasn't entrusting him with any secret information, David was left with nothing but the aching of his wounds, and the irreversible tear in his heart.

Kaminski pulled him in a little closer. "I know you're hurting, but you must get back to work," he said. "When you are ready, go to the furnace room. We will set your father's body aside, so that you may recite the Kaddish." He smiled sympathetically, and walked out of the room.

David looked back outside. It was a sunny and bright, with a cool breeze blowing in through the open window. He'd have to find out what day this was, so he could remember when he lost his father. Taking a shaky breath, David tried to gather himself together. Papa was at peace now, playing with his grandson in Heaven. David had to be happy with that. Otherwise, it'd be selfish to want him here, still alive in this hell, suffering and in pain.

Glancing up at the sky, David longed to see something divine—like an angel or maybe even a glimpse of Heaven—anything to put his heart at ease. He wished he could hear Papa's voice, telling him that dying was just another step into a different life; one that was filled with joy and love, and where all suffering ended forever.

But there was no such revelation. No indication that a spiritual escape from this godforsaken place was even possible. Feeling hurt and utterly alone, David stepped stiffly out of the sunlight and turned towards the rumbling coming from the fiery furnaces.

Later that evening, after all the bodies had been removed and the gas chamber walls cleaned and whitewashed, David went upstairs. Naked corpses lay in front of each furnace, sorted into different piles depending on whether they would burn either fast or slow. Fatter ones burned more quickly than those who were just skin and bones…like Papa. Not exactly sure where to look for Jakob's body, David was about to ask one of the stokers when, unexpectedly, Leon came up to him. The man's face and clothing was covered in black soot from tending the ovens, yet there was an air of compassion about him.

"Over here," he said, pointing down the corridor. "We've been waiting for you."

Touched by the normally gruff man's show of kindness, David followed him to where a small group of Sonderkommando were forming around a trolley. A slender body was lying there covered with a colorfully patterned tallit. Following tradition, one of the shawl's fringes was cut. As David got closer, a man leaned over and lifted the covering from the victim's face. It was Papa.

A sense of relief swept through David. There were no wounds or marks on his father's face, and his skin hadn't changed color, the usual sign of slow suffocation. Papa actually looked very peaceful, and David was grateful for that one small blessing.

"Look, here's the Rabbi," he heard someone say.

In truth, the man walking towards the group wasn't an actual rabbi, but one of the very ultra-orthodox Jews who worked upstairs. In an attempt to spare these devout men the filthy labor of the gas chambers, the head Kapos had assigned them the task of drying hair from the heads of women. After being gassed, their long tresses were cut and hung to dry in the rising heat from the furnaces. David was pleased that such a religious man would preside over Papa's ceremony.

"Are you the son?" the rabbi asked David. Nodding his head, David went over and stood next to him. With their backs towards the blazing ovens, the rabbi opened his prayer book and began thumbing through the well-worn pages. The painful welts from David's beating throbbed unmercifully, making it hard for him to tell whether his broken heart or bruised body hurt the worst.

"Let us begin," the rabbi said.

"May the great name of the Lord be exalted and hallowed throughout the world which he hath created according to his will," a chorus of voices recited. "May He establish His kingdom in your lifetimes and in your days, and in the lifetimes of the entire Family of Israel…"

David kept looking at Papa, mouthing the words he knew by memory, but not feeling them. His heart was too filled with pain and grief, and he couldn't honestly praise God at this moment. Something inside of him was convinced that the Almighty wasn't here in Auschwitz, or Birkenau, or any concentration camp. It was the same part that wasn't convinced Papa was really dead, and that David was now an orphan, the sole surviving member of his family. Yet, as the memorial prayer ended, and Papa's body was slid into the oven, the ceremonial words echoed in David's mind, and in them he found a tiny shred of spiritual comfort.

_Rest in peace, Jakob Ishmael Starsky. Your suffering is over._

_

* * *

_

The tension in the hospital room was palpable. Hutch hesitantly pulled himself out of the storytelling to look at Starsky. His partner's expression was just as he expected. On the outside, Starsky appeared calm and pensive, but the intense radiance coming from his deep blue eyes told Hutch there was a lot of turmoil smoldering behind that façade. Starsky was no doubt thinking about his own father's death, and in true Starsky fashion, keeping the personal tragedy hidden under layers of contemplative stillness.

Hutch glanced over at Kendrick, not surprised to see him sitting quietly by David. Hutch would've bet money that there had been an unseen channeling of support traveling between the two friends throughout their painful recollections. Hutch couldn't help but feel privileged to hear such a firsthand account of these men's stories.

It took Hutch by surprise, then, when David checked his watch and said, "Well, Kendrick, I think it's time we were on our way. I'm sure these youngsters want to talk amongst themselves without the old folks around. Plus, we have a long drive ahead of us tomorrow."

Kendrick nodded and stiffly stretched out his legs before getting out of his chair.

Starsky looked at Hutch with a shocked expression. Taking the cue, Hutch said, "Wait, you haven't finished the story yet! I mean, how did you get out of Auschwitz, or even make it all the way over to this country?"

"Ahem…" Starsky grunted.

Hutch turned and looked at his partner. Starsky was jerking his head and eyebrows up, as if Hutch was forgetting something.

"Oh," he said unsurely, "And we want to know…what happened to Hannah?" Hutch smiled inwardly, sure he'd asked the right thing. He wanted to hear more, but neither he nor Starsky could insist that their visitors stay longer. Kendrick and David had shared more than enough of their personal lives, and if they felt it was time to leave, that was their choice. "We realize you do have a long drive tomorrow," Hutch continued, as Kendrick offered a hand to help David rise. "Maybe when Starsky gets out of here, we can drive up the coast and visit you? Hear the rest of the story then?"

"But Hu—"

Hutch stared hard at Starsky. He knew if given the choice, Starsky wouldn't want to wait that long, but the older men had made their decision.

As if he understood what Hutch was driving at, Starsky meekly nodded. "Would that be okay, David? Us coming up to visit you sometime?"

Kendrick stuck his hands in his sweater pockets. His neutral expression indicated the ultimate answer rested with David.

"No," David answered, unexpectedly. He glanced at Kendrick, smiling slightly as their eyes locked together for a few moments. "I think my friend would agree with me, but I _hate _waiting," David said, breaking out in a big smile. "Besides, wasn't it was a Jew who said, 'There's no time like the present?'"

.

**Chapter 33**

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"So what happened?" Starsky asked impatiently, barely waiting for Kendrick and David to sit back down. "You mentioned something about a revolt. Did you escape then? Did Kendrick help you?"

David's grin faded away. "That was a dark day, for many of us," he answered, settling in his seat by the bed. He waited for Kendrick to sit back in his chair before continuing. "Several of the Sonderkommando had been trying to organize a mass escape of the entire camp. They had connections with the Resistance operating outside of Birkenau, to the point where even things like guns and ammunition were being smuggled into our quarters."

"So where'd the money come from?" Starsky asked, his ears perking up at 'resistance' and 'smuggling'. This part of his cousin's story sounded very intriguing, almost like a spy movie, and Starsky didn't want to miss a single fact. "I mean, nobody just gives that kind of stuff away, and it wasn't like the Nazis were paying you to work."

"No," David said. "But food wasn't the only thing we organized from the gas chambers. Prisoners like me, who'd worked in storerooms, knew how to hide the money and diamonds we found in the clothing." With a wry smile, he added, "Sometimes I wonder what other time in history a handful of diamonds was barely enough to purchase a single gun."

"Sounds like there was a lot of bribery going on," Hutch said, folding his arms across his chest. "And I bet the Nazis had a big hand in it."

"Of course," David agreed. "And those who survived the war had very comfortable nest eggs. But at that time, we needed all the corrupt Nazis we could find. I was relatively new, so I wasn't let in on much. Our leaders were afraid of too many people being involved, and then informing the SS. In fact, that kapo I was telling you about, Kaminski? Just a few weeks before the uprising, he was betrayed. That bastard Moll pulled him aside one day and had the rest of us locked in a storeroom." David extended his hand out like a pistol. "Bang! Bang! All of us thought we'd be next. But after a few minutes, the SS released us. We found Kaminski's body by the pyres later that day. He'd been shot in the back of the neck and in his eye."

"Did you find out who ratted on him?" Hutch asked, leaning against the wall in front of the bed.

Starsky eyed Hutch, wondering if he was thinking about Lionel Rigger. Their informant's untimely death had been similar to Kaminski's, and Starsky had never doubted his actions had contributed to the tragedy.

"No," David said. "But that didn't stop the uprising, such as it was. We lost over half of our number in that bloodbath; hundreds mowed down, without mercy, by machine gun fire. A few got lucky and killed a couple of SS and a kapo, plus the men working in Crematorium IV set it on fire. We considered the revolt a victory in that we were able to put one of those death factories out of business. But losing all of those men?" Dropping his head to his chest, David sighed. "Maybe it was good they died fighting the Nazis, but it was a terrible price to pay."

"I guess you got pulled into that, too?" Hutch asked Kendrick before taking a seat on the wide sill by the window.

Kendrick coughed slightly, clearing his throat. "Yes, and it was one of the worst days of my life. The sirens went off, and I could see a pillar of black smoke coming from one of the crematoriums. I had no idea what was going on, but by the time I got there, all I could see was dead bodies lying everywhere." Kendrick paused and stared vacantly at the floor, apparently lost in thought.

Starsky couldn't help but wonder if that horrid scene was replaying itself in the man's memory; and if Kendrick's description was triggering a bad recollection or two in Hutch's mind. His partner had undoubtedly witnessed an eyeful right after Starsky got shot. Not wanting to confirm any suspicions about what Hutch might be thinking, Starsky kept his attention focused on Kendrick.

"I couldn't help but think about David," Kendrick finally said, blinking his eyes a few times, "but I didn't know which building he was in. It wasn't until several days later, a lifetime almost, before Erick told me that David had survived. To this day, I'm not sure whether he did it to set my mind at ease, or to make me suffer a little longer, knowing that David was still stuck in that hell."

An unexpected muscle cramp shot up Starsky's side. He reached around to try and rub the offending ache, but the movement caused his chest tube to pinch. He grunted in pain, but before anyone could ask, he stuck his palm up and forced a smile. He wanted to hear this story, and he wasn't going to let the pain of a stupid tube jabbed between his ribs prevent that. "David, you said hundreds died," he said gingerly, trying not to clinch his teeth. "I bet you lost a few friends."

His cousin looked down at his lap. "I can't remember a lot of their names," he said, brushing something off of his pant leg. "Many times we'd never even ask each other that question. We'd just go around and call each other 'you.' But, yes, I lost people I considered friends that day; Moishe was one of those."

"What about…oh, what was his name?" Hutch clamped his eyes shut and snapped his middle finger and thumb softly. Before Starsky could offer a guess, Hutch announced, "Leon!"

David smiled. "He was actually one of the very few of us that survived until liberation." Surprisingly, he turned quiet. He seemed to be seeing something far off, memories that only he was privy to.

Kendrick leaned over and patted him on the arm. "Why don't you go ahead and tell them about that."

David looked at his friend and flashed him a ghost of a smile. "Well, after that summer," he said, "fewer and fewer people were brought to be gassed. We were eventually moved back into Block 13, but not before undergoing another selection. I guess the Nazis weren't satisfied that over half of us were killed in the revolt. This time, they took about two hundred, anyone who had a high number. I barely missed being selected." David absently ran a hand over his bared forearm, then stared at the old tattoo there. "My number was right below the last one who was allowed to live," he continued, rubbing a hand over the grisly reminder. "Out of those of us left, one group was sent to work in the last crematorium, the rest started dismantling the other three."

"Dismantling them? Why?" Hutch asked.

"Evidence," Kendrick said bitterly. "The Russians were coming and no one wanted them to find operational gas chambers when they arrived. The plan was to move all the ovens to another camp in Germany and continue the gassings."

"Man, what a bunch of sickos," Starsky grumbled, then realized what he'd just said. "I mean, not includin' you, Kendrick. You're one of the…uh, you know, good ones."

Kendrick grinned at him warmly. "_Keine Sorge_. Don't worry, I know what you mean. Many of us were very _krank_, 'sick', including the top brass. Germany was trying to fight the Allies, but there were no trains to help transport troops or supplies to the front. Hitler was still using them to ship Jews to the camps. He was so obsessed with killing every Jew he thought nothing of sacrificing his armies to achieve that goal."

"Unbelievable," Hutch muttered, leaning forward to brace both arms on his legs. He interlocked his long fingers together and fanned them out and back in a few times, an old habit he did when thinking deeply. "So, David, were you in Auschwitz when the Russians got there?" he asked, looking back up.

"No. About a week before they arrived, the camp was evacuated. But we Sonderkommando almost didn't make it out of there."

"Why? What happened?" asked Starsky, delicately trying to move his body against the pillows so he'd be more comfortable.

"That day, we were on our way to work, dismantling the crematoriums. Suddenly, the SS yelled, 'Sonderkommando, back to the barracks!' We knew right away what that meant—they were going to kill us. Once we got inside, they left a guard at the door. A short time later, he came inside and told everyone to stay put 'if we knew what was best for us', and then he left!" David threw both hands up in the air. "Well, we weren't _dumkopfs_. We rushed outside and mingled in with the other prisoners, because everyone was being ordered out of the camp. I, and many others, headed over to the storerooms. We grabbed coats, blankets, shoes, anything to keep us warm."

"The fear was almost universal," Kendrick added. "We had heard so many rumors. 'The Russians are only 30 kilometers away,' then, 'No, they're still days away.' One thing was for certain: no German soldier wanted to be there when they arrived." He shook his head repeatedly. "When the orders finally came to evacuate the camp, we were probably more anxious to leave than the prisoners were!"

"So how long was it before you finally saw each other again?" Starsky asked, still working on finding a comfortable position. If he moved to where he wanted, he wouldn't be able to hide the pain. Thankfully, bending one of his legs seemed to ease the pressure in his chest and he settled back against the pillows.

"You mean when we actually had a chance to speak?" Kendrick turned to David. "Not until sometime that spring, _ja_?"

David bit his lip, looking thoughtful. "Let's see," he said. "After we left Birkenau, they marched us back to Auschwitz. I remember a couple of SS walking around asking for any Sonderkommando. 'We have a good job for you,' they said." David shook his head in amazement. "Anyway, two days later, in the middle of the night, they started marching a big group of us west. Thousands of prisoners! Some were bundled up in blankets, others just had a thin jacket. It was snowing very hard, and the temperature…I don't know how cold it was, but the air froze my lungs when I breathed! We'd only gone a few kilometers when I heard the first shot."

David wrapped his arms around himself, as if he were back on that icy road. Interestingly, Kendrick also chose that moment to pull his sweater tighter around himself. Starsky could certainly empathize with them. He'd experienced enough New York winters to know what frigid air felt like. Several moments later, David sat up a little straighter and relaxed his arms.

"After that," he continued, "you could hear the rifles firing every few minutes. The Nazis were shooting anyone who fell down or couldn't keep up the fast pace. One time, to keep myself going, I started counting the shots. I got to fifty, then counted to a hundred. And this went on for three straight days. The first night, we slept in a barn; only for a couple of hours. The next evening, we slept out in the middle of a soccer field. I can't tell you how many people froze to the ground overnight and were dead by dawn. Finally, we made it to Gleiwitz. They loaded us in open coal cars and off we went."

Starsky had a hard time understanding the Nazi's sudden change of plans. "Oh God," he moaned, as the realization hit. "You weren't in boxcars? Just how long were you on that train without any shelter?"

"Four, maybe five days. I thought the other rides had been bad, but this one was the worst. I don't think it ever stopped snowing. Sometimes, when we'd stop and wait for other trains to go by, we could scrape the snow off of one another. That was our drinking water. Once…" David paused as a flash of pain passed across his face. "We managed to stop right under a pedestrian bridge. It was early morning and a few people were walking across it; on their way to work, I assume. One of them took out a loaf of bread, broke off a small piece and threw it into our car. These men, my fellow Jews… suddenly, they were like a pack of wolves fighting over a scrap of meat. I pushed my way to a corner, trying to get out of the way. I watched as the people on the bridge kept tossing bread, one tiny chunk at a time. They were laughing and pointing at us. I think that was when I realized how little the world cared about us."

"I saw something similar," Kendrick sadly admitted. "And those people weren't even soldiers or SS. They were Czech women."

Hutch dipped his eyes as he shook his head in disgust. Combing his hair back with his hand, he said, "Kendrick, I'm guessing you left Auschwitz guarding a transport like David's."

"Yes," he answered. "I might even have been on that same train, because we both ended up in Mauthausen, a concentration camp in Austria. About two days after I arrived, I spotted David heading out on a work detail. Unfortunately, I couldn't leave my station and try to catch his attention. Later, I tried to look up his name, but by that time, many of the camps had stopped registering new prisoners. There were so many arriving, it was too time consuming to write the prisoners' information down; we'd just do a head count and put them to work."

"And I wasn't there for very long," David cut in. "About three weeks later, I was shipped off again, to Ebensee."

"After that first time I saw him, a week went by, then another, and another," Kendrick recounted. "But as hard as I tried, I never saw David again in camp. Even though there were thousands of prisoners there, all I could think was that he'd died. I felt so worthless," he said, sounding heartbroken. "I wanted to accomplish one good thing—one—so I could die knowing I wasn't a bad man. But when you have so much blood on your hands that you can't wash it off…" He rubbed both hands as if trying to remove the taint. "You've heard that saying, 'I'm at the end of my rope?' That's how I felt. I just wanted the Russians or the Americans to hurry up and put an end to my suffering."

"Those last months before liberation were very difficult," David added, "for both of us. Until I got out of Auschwitz, I didn't realize what a killing factory it was. These other camps that I went to, many of them had crematoriums, but not gas chambers. Not like Birkenau. If the Germans wanted you to die, they just worked you to death." David stopped to clear his throat. "At least, when I left Auschwitz, I was healthier than most, but by the time I got to Ebensee, I'd lost a lot of weight. And the work; for 12, 14 hours a day they made us dig out these large tunnels in the hills. I wasn't sure what they were for. Some prisoners said it was so the Germans could hide their big rockets from the Allies. But every day, at least a hundred, probably two hundred of us died. We were hardly ever fed: a half liter of ersatz coffee in the morning; about that much soup for lunch, if you could call it that. Just some dirty water with a few potato peels. And then for dinner, a piece of bread about as big as your fist."

"It's a wonder how anyone could survive on rations like that," said Starsky. He felt guilty for the times he'd thought the hospital was trying to starve him when they refused to let him have a midnight snack.

"Well, like I said, those were hard times," David answered. "After being in Ebsensee for over a month, some of us were sent to Dachau. Why, I don't know. By then, we were more dead than alive. I don't really remember too much after that." David looked at both Starsky and Hutch. "I mean, each day just merged into the next. I couldn't even tell you if we still got food or not; I didn't have enough strength to leave my barracks and find out. Lucky for me, there hadn't been any roll calls for a few days; otherwise I would've been shot. Other prisoners would return to their bunks at night, the ones who could still get around, and share the rumors going around. Most of the time, the news sounded good, but I was too sick and tired to care."

David paused and glanced out of the window. "I spent a lot of time thinking about Papa. Sometimes, I would close my eyes and I could hear him talking to me. I'd also think about Hannah, and wish to God I could hear her say anything…" David shook his head. "That was it. I just remember staring at sunlight coming in through an open doorway. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion; people, noises. I felt like I could just float away. Then, the next thing I knew, I was lying on a bed with a soft mattress and pillow. A real bed!"

"In a hospital?" Hutch guessed.

Nodding, David said, "A makeshift one. At first, I didn't know where I was. There were several other patients there, prisoners, like me, but the place was too nice to be the inside of a barrack. It had a cement floor and paneled walls. Later, I found out the Americans had converted the SS quarters into hospital wards for the really sick, or anyone they felt couldn't be transferred somewhere else."

"Was the war over?" Starsky wondered aloud. "I mean, in Europe?"

"Well, when I first woke up, I had no idea what day it was. From listening to others talking around me, I learned that the Americans had liberated Dachau on April the 29th. If I hadn't been taken there, I certainly would've died. Ebensee wasn't liberated until May 6th."

"Boy," Hutch muttered. "I can't say whether you survived because of sheer luck, fate or just an amazing will to survive. But how in the world did you and Kendrick meet up again?"

David smiled warmly and glanced over at Kendrick. "I think it's your turn now," he said.

Kendrick returned his friend's smile and pulled at the hem on his sweater, straightening it out. "I don't think my story is quite as gripping as David's, but like his, I think mine was destined by fate. About the time my old camp was being taken over by the Americans, I was leading a large group of prisoners out of Austria, back into Germany. Our column was attacked by fighter planes, and it was every man for himself. I ended up running into the woods and I didn't stop for miles. I'd had it with fighting and killing. All I wanted was to surrender to the first GI Joe I could find. That took three more days of walking towards the northwest, as best as I could calculate direction, and hiding from every German patrol I came across. But I finally found a real American soldier; a private at that!"

At that moment, a nurse came in holding a clipboard under her arm. "My, you boys must be having a very interesting conversation. You've all been here since this morning," she said, pulling a thermometer from one of her pockets. She held it up and began to shake the thin glass tube.

"I hope you know where that thing's been before you go sticking it in my mouth, Gladys," Starsky quipped.

"Now, hon, don't you know you're talking to a professional?" she replied, sticking the glass rod into his mouth. Waiting for the mercury to rise, Gladys began to pat her other pockets. Pulling out a second thermometer, she held it up and started to examine it. "Oh my," she said, her face growing slack in apparent shock, "Now which one did I just use next door, to take a rectal?"

Starsky saw her looking at the thermometer in his mouth and immediately spit it out. "You didn't!" he yelped.

Gladys held her mortified expression for a few more seconds, then calmly picked up the instrument from Starsky's chest. Waving it as a warning, she announced, "And the next time you play a prank on one of my candy stripers, be prepared for an unscheduled enema. Do we have an understanding, Mr. Starsky?"

Starsky inched down in his bed. "Sure, anything you say, Gladys," he said, feeling his face flush.

Sporting a big smile, Gladys pocketed the thermometers and headed out the door. "Oh, and your dinner will be here shortly," she said, glancing back over her shoulder.

"What was _that_ all about?" Hutch peered at his partner. "Starsky," he scolded, "just what kind of joke did you play?"

"Geez, Hutch. That was almost three days ago!" Starsky pulled the bed covers up a little higher. Hoping to shift attention away from himself, he eyed Kendrick. "That must've been scary, surrendering like that by yourself."

"Well, yes…a little," Kendrick said. "Actually, I didn't realize just how close I came to getting myself killed. It wasn't until I was sent to Dachau, a prisoner myself, that I learned about the SS guards that had been shot after they surrendered. When the American liberators arrived there, they hadn't seen a concentration camp before." He paused for a moment, obviously remembering those turbulent times with a faraway look in his eyes. "Emotions, I think, outweighed military rules of conduct," he concluded simply.

Starsky gave an involuntary shudder at the implication. _Weren't they, the Americans, supposed to be the good guys?_

As if sensing his partner's unease, Hutch hurriedly pitched the next question. "How long were you held in Dachau? I mean, didn't the Allies consider any member of the SS a war criminal?"

"You're correct," Kendrick remarked. "Since the SS ran the concentration camps, the Allies considered them accomplices in the Nazi's plan. So every staff member, regardless of what kind of work they did, was automatically charged for war crimes."

"So you got thrown in jail?" asked Starsky.

Kendrick shook his head. "Not exactly. But the soldiers took our boots and most of our clothing and gave those to the camp survivors. Many times, the Jews would walk by our barbed wire compound and spit or try to piss on us. I can't say that we didn't deserve it, but things like that were tolerated by the Americans." He glanced nervously around the room, perhaps expecting someone to berate him. When nothing was said, he continued. "Most of us were held in Dachau about three months, then released. At Nuremburg, about two dozen high ranking SS were put on trial. Many of them were either colonels or lieutenant colonels of the _Einsatzgruppen_. If I remember correctly, more than a dozen were sentenced to death, but only four actually hanged. The rest got prison sentences. Yet when the Cold War started, and the United States needed Germany as an ally against Russia, nearly all who were still alive were released from prison."

"Man," Starsky moaned. "Talk about getting away with murder." He gave himself a hasty mental slap and quickly locked apologetic eyes on Kendrick. Receiving a small nod and smile in return, Starsky felt comfortable that Kendrick had understood.

"Those trials served little purpose except, perhaps, to open people's eyes," David said, rejoining the conversation. "For those of us who survived, we had to concentrate on other things. We had to start rebuilding our lives. Of course, we wanted revenge, to see the guilty punished for murdering millions. I'd have settled for justice for the death of just one…"

Starsky had little doubt who that person was. "Hannah," he said, finally.

Clasping his hands together, David slightly dipped his head. "Kendrick actually found out Hannah's fate before I did. I should let him start talking about that day."

All eyes fell on Kendrick. He acknowledged David with a slight nod and smile. "Well," he began, "I'd been a prisoner in Dachau for about a week when…."

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TBC - Tommorrow I'll post the last two chapters


	18. Chapter 18

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**Author's Note** - I'd like to dedicate this story to my Dad, who passed away this morning. Also, the story is up on my website, along with Nicole Tyler's artwork and plenty of other pictures. Hopefully I've worked out all the glitches. Here's the link...

www(dot)myzebra3(dot)com(/)stories(dot)html (FF won't let me post the link)

I also plan to post a list of websites that I found extremely informative and educational concerning the Holocaust and the Sonderkommando. Please check back on my website in the near future if you're interested in finding out more information. Also, I'd be extremely grateful if you could leave a comment if you enjoyed this story, or even if you found it lacking in something. Thanks everyone for reading.

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**Chapter 34**

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Inside the fenced yard, Kendrick stepped around small pockets of German soldiers sitting in the sun soaking up some warmth. He'd been trying to find a semi-secluded place where he could smoke a cigarette, but so far, it had been impossible. Anytime he lit up one of his few remaining smokes, dozens of his fellow prisoners would beg him for a drag. With hundreds of nicotine-starved Germans held within this barbed wire enclosure, Kendrick was steadily being forced into becoming a non-smoker.

Sighing heavily, he strolled over to a tall fence post and leaned against it. He looked past the wires, out into the main assembly area of Dachau. Camp survivors, identifiable by their striped rags, were walking around, accompanied here and there by American soldiers.

Kendrick couldn't escape the irony at his change in circumstances. Now he was a prisoner, and those he'd once guarded were free, right here where he used to work. Another thing he couldn't escape were the hateful stares from both ex-prisoners and GIs. There wasn't room in his heart for blame, though. The smell of hundreds of rotting corpses, all victims of Hitler's fanaticism, had hung in the air for days following the camp's liberation. To both the Jews and the Allied fighters, the Nazis had undoubtedly proven _they_ were a race unfit for existence.

As he watched a few more people stroll by, Kendrick thought about David. He'd been so close to giving his pal help that one day in Auschwitz; so close to at least providing him some encouragement to keep surviving. Now, the likelihood that David had died at Mauthausen, and the realization that life could never be the same, terrified him. Truthfully, there was no way to have physically checked every inmate who had perished in that camp during those last weeks; so many had succumbed daily. To calm his fears back then, Kendrick had let his inner soul determine whether David was alive or not. He'd never felt his best friend's spirit missing, but now, things were different. The war had swept over Europe and millions of people like a giant tidal wave. Very little had been left standing, or alive, in its wake. In all respects, Kendrick could consider himself a survivor, but he certainly didn't feel like he'd earned that privilege.

Combing a hand through his hair, Kendrick removed a few stray strands from his eyes and debated whether to satisfy the tobacco craving in his lungs. He wasn't sure how much longer he'd be held in Dachau, but until his smokes ran out, he'd keep trying to make what he had last as long as possible. As he pushed off the post to continue the monotonous circuit of his prison and find a place to light up, a pair of liberated inmates outside the wire fence caught his attention.

Both were women, clothed in the usual striped dresses, but neither was wearing a scarf. Kendrick looked closer at the one nearest to him, and instantly stiffened at the sight of familiar features. The eyes looked the same, although the shoulder-length hair that he'd remembered was only about an inch long now. The woman's face also looked a bit older, too. Still, could it be…?

Feeling he had nothing to lose, Kendrick shouted, "Hannah?" The woman briefly lifted her head, but then turned back to her companion.

"Hannah!" he hollered louder. This time, the woman stopped and looked blankly in his direction. With his heart beating faster, Kendrick waved his arm in the air. "Hannah! Over here! It's me, Kendrick!"

She took a few steps closer, then stopped again. Kendrick kept his hand up and waved again. He was positive this was Hannah, but as happiness over finding her lifted his spirit, Kendrick was struck by a sinking feeling reminiscent of the first time he'd seen David back in Auschwitz. Would Hannah, like David, be afraid to talk to him, even though he was the prisoner now?

Hannah's companion grabbed her arm and tried to pull her away. Kendrick couldn't hear their conversation, but his hope picked back up when Hannah separated from her friend and headed his way.

"Hannah," Kendrick called out. "It's okay. I just want to talk to you."

"Kendrick? Is that really you?" she asked, stepping up to the fence.

Immensely joyful, Kendrick eagerly nodded his head. "Yes!" he exclaimed, tears forming in his eyes. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to offer or receive some kind of reassurance, yet he reluctantly kept both hands on the wire in front of him. Hannah was thin, but other than a few scrapes on her face and arms, she didn't appear to be in ill health.

"You're a soldier," she said warily, glancing at him from head to toe. "An SS…"

Kendrick's head dipped. "Hannah, there's so much I could tell you…but I'm still the same person you knew when we were teenagers." Hannah stayed silent and continued to stare at him. Sensing that the reunion wasn't going very well, Kendrick decided he had to know one thing. "Have you seen David?" he asked.

Hannah's eyes immediately widened. "David? Is he here?"

"I don't know. The last time I saw him was—"

"You saw him?" Hannah lunged forward and grabbed the barbed wire. "When? Where?"

Kendrick instinctively leaned back, trying to keep a bit of distance between them in case a GI happened to wander by. Like many of his comrades, Kendrick wasn't convinced the Americans were sticking to the Geneva Convention when it came to 'incidents' involving German POWs.

Studying Hannah's eager face, Kendrick wished he had better news to give her. "I last saw him in Mauthausen, about two months ago."

"Alive?" she asked. "You saw him alive that soon ago?" Hannah's wishful reaction tore at his heart.

"You there! What's going on?"

Both Hannah and Kendrick turned towards the authoritative voice. An American soldier, speaking German, was heading straight towards them. Afraid, Kendrick quickly took a few steps back. Hannah glanced at Kendrick, then focused on the soldier.

"Is he bothering you?" the GI asked Hannah. He'd slipped his rifle strap off his shoulder and gripped the weapon tightly with both hands.

"No," she answered timidly. "I know him. He…he was a friend of my husband's."

The soldier looked doubtful. "Is your husband a Jew, too?" he asked Hannah. When she nodded, he frowned, giving Kendrick a dirty glare. "If you want to finish talking, go ahead," he said, lowering his weapon. "Just don't stay too long."

He slipped the rifle strap back on his should and started to leave. "Wait!" Hannah cried. Eying Kendrick, she asked, "Do you know where David might be?"

Looking into those hopeful eyes, Kendrick wished he could make Hannah realize that he wanted to learn David's whereabouts as much as she did. "I…I don't, Hannah. I wish—"

"Could he be here? In this camp?" she pressed.

Dumbfounded, Kendrick couldn't even offer a guess. But as he struggled for some kind of answer, Hannah approached the GI. "Can you help me?" she pleaded. "My husband might be in this camp, and I've got to find him!"

"Ma'am, there's thousands of your people here," he said cautiously, pointing a thumb at the area behind him.

Kendrick heard the uncertainty in the man's voice and empathized; unless the Americans had a good system of registering everyone in the camp, finding David would be virtually impossible. But if they had a way of narrowing their search…

"Wait," Kendrick said, and reached into his pocket. Finding the piece of paper he wanted, he unfolded it and handed it to the soldier. "The man she's looking for, he'll have that number tattooed on his arm."

The GI took the note, reading it quickly. Kendrick glanced at Hannah, and her stunned expression made his throat tighten.

"He was in Auschwitz, Hannah. Anyone who was there got tattooed."

She closed her eyes as if she didn't want to believe what Kendrick had just said. When she opened them, Hannah stared at the note in the GI's hand. "Will that help you find him?" she asked.

"It might, but I've heard that some prisoners have changed their tattoo numbers."

"Why would they do that?" Hannah asked worriedly, crossing her arms.

"They were probably afraid of the Nazis finding them, especially if they'd worked in the gas chambers."

Kendrick's ears perked up. He wondered if David might've done the same thing.

"What's your husband's name?" the soldier asked, as he took his helmet off and tucked it under his arm. Kendrick did a double take as thick, black curly hair sprung up from the man's head.

"David. David Starsky."

Using his free hand, the soldier pulled a pencil and notepad out from inside of his jacket and jotted the name down. "I'll see what I can do," he said. "Where can I find you?"

"I'm in Block 23," she said, her face glowing with anticipation. "And my name is Hannah."

"'Hannah', that's lovely. My name is Michael. Private Michael Stern."

Seemingly surprised, Hannah froze for a moment. "Michael," she repeated, "my husband has a cousin by that name."

"Oh yeah, well, how's that for coincidence?" Michael grinned, which made the dimples on his young face even bigger.

Hannah smiled politely. Kendrick felt a smile tug at his own lips. Maybe this was a good omen.

Michael placed his steel helmet back on and courteously tipped it at Hannah. Just as he turned to leave, Kendrick yelled at him to wait.

"What do you want?" Michael said brusquely.

Ignoring the harsh tone, Kendrick dug into his back pocket and pulled out a small photo. Giving the picture one last look, he reached through the wire fence and handed it to Hannah.

"Where did you get this?" she asked him, clearly surprised to see a picture of herself.

"From your old apartment. When you and David were in Poland, he wrote and asked me to pay a visit to your parents. I was supposed to ask your mother for something to send to you."

"Why did he want you to do that?" she asked softly.

"Because he knew you were homesick. David thought if you had something familiar, you wouldn't be so sad." The pleased look on Hannah's face sent a warm sensation through Kendrick. He'd always intended to give the photo to David, but had never had the chance. Now, hopefully, it could help trace him. "If you find someone you think could be David, show him this picture," Kendrick told Michael. "He won't lie to you if he sees it."

Michael's expression softened as he waited for Hannah to give him the photo. "If you don't find him," she said, "will you return the photo?"

"Of course, but I'd rather your husband be the one who returns it." Michael tucked the photo in his pocket. He tipped his helmet one last time and left them, heading to the administration building.

Hannah stood silently and watched him leave. She reminded Kendrick of a wife watching her husband march off to war; a look of apprehension and desperate hope etched deeply into her face. "I'm sorry," she said eventually, "for thinking that you had changed. It's just, seeing your uniform…"

"I know, Hannah, and you don't have to be sorry." Kendrick let out a long sigh and glanced around at the other men in the yard behind him. "It's been a long war, a senseless one at that. But trust me, I've never stopped being David's friend, or yours."

* * *

David opened his eyes. As consciousness and clarity gradually returned, he took in his surroundings. The room looked the same as it did when he had first awakened, and the bed he lay in felt no different. Instead of multi-tiered bunks that reeked with excrement and decaying corpses surrounding him, this place had clean, white-sheeted beds in neat rows. His mattress wasn't just a thin layer of straw laid over rough hewn planks, but a plump cushion that cradled his worn body like a soft, down pillow. These things pleased him, because he was sure he was in an infirmary and not a dark barrack saturated with lice and death.

He had no idea how he'd gotten here, or even where 'here' was. The nurses he saw occasionally spoke English, but every now and then uttered a word or two of German. David thought he recalled an American army doctor speaking to him in his native tongue, but that memory was still too fuzzy to be considered real. He was also confused about what day it was or how long he'd been in this wonderfully comfortable bed.

Feeling more awake, David turned sideways a little. He watched the shafts of sunlight coming in through the nearby windows alternately brighten and then fade. Each of the three double-hung windows had thin, almost sheer curtains drawn to each side. All the windows were open at least halfway, and for the first time, David realized he wasn't smelling air tainted with the odor of burnt flesh. He'd nearly forgotten that air could smell so sweet and pure.

Mysteriously, the curtains hanging from the middle window abruptly lifted, as if a stiff breeze had just blown in. David instantly felt taken back in time, to Uncle Emir's cottage in Skozenka. He'd been standing in the doorway of Hannah's room, watching in awe as the woman he loved slumbered on the bed when a similar thing happened. That memory seemed to come from long ago, from a different life in a much different world.

Not wanting to reminisce, David turned his head away and studied the glass bottle hanging above his bed. It contained a clear liquid that seeped through a thin plastic tube and ran down to his right side. There, it attached to a large needle stuck into the crease of his arm. He wasn't sure what this fluid was, but it had gradually tamed his hunger without him having to eat anything.

Across the room, someone shouted out in pain. A nurse left the bedside of one patient, and hurried over to tend to the man, one of about two dozen in the infirmary. Judging by the full head of hair and chubby face, the patient was most likely a German soldier.

Sharing the infirmary with some of his former tormentors made David uneasy. Even though it was unlikely they would beat him anymore, the close proximity made him wonder what the Americans had planned for either the Nazis or Jews. Perhaps they were destined to become slaves for the United States. David could see the two groups being held responsible for the war and forced to rebuild Europe. Well, if that happened, maybe his American masters would at least treat him humanely.

Pushing aside his concerns about the future, David watched a young GI enter the room. He approached a nurse and talked to her for a few moments. She nodded and pointed over to a section where David lay. The soldier glanced in his direction, then tipped his helmet at the nurse. Walking up to the first bed, he stared at the patient there for several moments. He took a piece of paper out of his pocket and, after checking it and the patient again, moved on to the next bed.

When the GI got closer, David could see the man was examining the patients' left arms. David felt a jolt of panic. The soldier was probably looking for him, or any Sonderkommando. The rumors he'd heard in Mauthausen, then, were true! The Allies considered anyone who'd worked in the gas chambers murderers, and now they were rounding up the guilty to punish them.

Stealing a glance at his tattoo, David felt momentarily relieved. After hearing those rumors, he'd asked a fellow inmate to change a few of the numbers. As the American soldier stopped at the foot of his bed, David hoped the alteration would be good enough to fool him.

"I see you have a tattoo," the soldier said in near flawless German. "Were you in Auschwitz?"

The towering figure sent a chill down David's spine. Even though the uniform was different from the Nazi grey, David couldn't help but see an SS officer standing beside him. With his heart racing, he managed a terse affirmative to the man's question. The soldier glanced at the paper in his hand, then looked at David's tattoo again. As his eyes lingered on the digits, David rotated his arm so the tattoo was hidden. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice betraying the fear he had been trying to hide.

"I'm looking for someone," he answered. "What's your name?"

Not accustomed to being asked such a question, David balked for a second. If he lied, and was found out, he'd probably be punished more severely. Swallowing hard, he made his choice. "David," he answered weakly.

Grinning slightly, the soldier turned the note around so David could see it. "I think you're the person I'm looking for," he said, "but I was told _this_ number would be tattooed on his arm."

David felt a shiver race through him as he checked the handwritten numbers. _101539_. That was him. When the GI took hold of his arm and turned it over, David felt his courage crumble.

"Your number," the soldier continued, "is very close. 104589."

"Please," David whimpered, trying to pull away. "Please don't kill me."

The soldier instantly let go of David's arm. "I'm not going to kill you," he said, obviously shaken. "Someone asked me to help find you."

David glanced hesitantly at the American. "A German?" he asked.

The man appeared a little confused. "Yes, I think both of them were German."

"Both?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "A man and a woman."

"A woman?" David strained to raise his head. _Had he heard that right?_

The soldier dug into one of his front pockets. He pulled out a small photo and handed it to David.

_Oh, my God!_

_

* * *

_

David placed Hannah's photo on his chest and looked at the clock on the wall. Ever since the soldier left, time had all but stopped. He'd promised to find Hannah as soon as he could and bring her to the infirmary.

Using his free hand, David wiped another tear off of his cheek. He hadn't stopped crying since learning that Hannah was, indeed, very much alive. Ashamed at his weakness, David could only lie helplessly, fighting the urge to run out of the hospital on his own two feet, straight into his lover's arms.

Hearing some excited voices coming from the front entrance, David anxiously raised his head. The movement caused the room to wobble a little, but after blinking a few times, his vision cleared. Two nurses hurried over to the doorway and joined some other people that David couldn't see yet. He briefly caught sight of the doctor who'd examined him earlier, but with the wall of white smocks in his way, David couldn't tell if Hannah had arrived or not. Disappointed, he lowered his head back down, but kept his eyes on the small gathering.

Finally, the group of medics began to move. As a single unit, they walked over to him, but in the sea of white there wasn't one blue and grey striped uniform. It wasn't until they were almost at the foot of his bed that the nurses in front stepped aside. There, standing in the middle, was David's one true love.

_Hannah. _

Images of his wedding day flashed before David's eyes. Dressed in a crisp nurse's dress, with two yellow daisies pinned to her front pocket, was the most beautiful woman in the world. It didn't matter that Hannah's lovely shoulder-length hair was now barely long enough to cover the top of her ears, or that her small frame was even tinier. The woman David saw standing before him was the same one who had stolen his heart the very first day they'd met.

"Hannah…" David whispered. He raised his arm, beckoning her to sit beside him.

Hannah sat on the edge of the bed, and gazed in loving wonder at her husband. David barely caught sight of the other nurses and doctors leaving as Hannah leaned forward and cupped his head with her hand. "Oh, my love, it is you."

She bent down and laid a gentle kiss on his lips. Lingering there for only a moment, she moved her mouth to his brow and rained kisses on him. Tears of happiness streamed from his eyes as David relished every moist touch from her soft lips. Hannah grabbed David's hand, the one without the IV, and raised it to her face. Placing another kiss on his palm, she interlaced her fingers with his.

Gathering his strength, David pulled her closer, silently inviting his wife to nestle beside him. He wanted to whisper his thoughts of joy into her ear, but the thrill of the moment was already weakening him. Hannah moved onto her side and stretched out gracefully on the bed. She lay their joined hands on his chest. David gazed into her eyes and felt his soul rejoin with hers. Every bit of suffering he'd endured up to that moment, every pound of heartache, gradually disappeared. Her familiar touch tingled through his body. The sensation felt so breathtaking, so long in coming, David gasped in response.

Hannah inched forward and put her lips firmly on David's.

After what seemed like ages, David reluctantly ended the kiss. Although he was happy beyond description to finally have Hannah in his arms, suddenly, he felt weak and nauseous. Hannah must have sensed the change in him.

"You should rest, David," she said, letting go of his hand. She stroked the wet trails from the side of his face. "The doctor told me that you are very sick and mustn't overdo yourself."

David caught her hand with his. "You're here now."

Hannah's expression brightened. "I'm pleased that you think I could cure you, but you need to listen to the doctor. I'll be here with you every day…we have a lifetime to be together, David. A whole lifetime."

David filled his lungs with air, savoring every bit of Hannah's scent. He could feel himself slipping into a deep, restful sleep. But before he drifted off, there was one thing he needed from Hannah.

"Hold me tighter," he said, squeezing her hand.

Her lips stretched into a warm smile. "I've got you."

.

**Chapter 35**

**.  
**

"Oh, God," Starsky murmured, almost overcome by the account of David and Hannah's emotional reunion. "The way you were talking, I thought for sure that Hannah didn't make it."

"After everything I'd seen…knowing what the Nazis were capable of," David said, taking a long shuddering breath, "I didn't think I'd ever see my wife again. Especially once I left Auschwitz. Those last few months, before we were liberated, were indescribable. I was just waiting to die, that's it. I'd given up."

"How long were you in the hospital?"

Starsky heard the subtle catch in his partner's voice, although he was doubtful anyone else had. Hutch was probably picturing him in a similar situation...near death, unsure whether he was going to live or not. _I'm still here, Hutchinson. Ain't goin' nowhere, buddy. _

Meanwhile, David scratched the side of his head as if searching for an answer to Hutch's question. "It was a long time," he said. "I'd lost a lot of weight, you know. I think at one point I weighed about 90 pounds. The IV in my arm was all that was keeping me alive. Every day, though, the nurses would make me try to eat something."

"So many who survived liberation died as soon as they got real food again," Kendrick said. "Their stomachs just couldn't handle it."

David nodded. "For several weeks, the only thing they fed me was Cream of Wheat and powdered milk."

"Damn," Starsky groaned. "And I thought I was on a starvation diet. So what happened after you got well?"

"Well, as I said before, it took a while. Hannah stayed with me, helped nurse me, and made sure I did everything the doctors told me to do. We were among the last group of Jews to leave Dachau."

"Where did you go?" Hutch asked, leaning forward in his seat.

"We couldn't return home. We had no money, no clothing, nothing. Neither of us wanted to stay in Germany, and Poland was out of the question; Jews were _hated_ there. They'd go back to try and reclaim their homes and the Poles would kill them. So, we had no choice but to live in a DP camp."

Starsky scrunched up his face. "DP?"

"Displaced Person," David explained. "Actually, those places were hardly better than the concentration camps. Our food rations were limited; many still wore the striped uniforms; we were always guarded; and the bunks we slept on were barely more comfortable than the floor." He stopped and let out a long sigh. "But beggars can't be choosers, and at least there were no gas chambers to worry about."

"Doesn't sound like being liberated was all that great," Hutch remarked, frowning. "At least, not what you expected it to be like."

"Everyone had a hard time after the war. Tell them what happened to you," David said to Kendrick.

Kendrick momentarily appeared lost for words, but then sat up a little straighter in his chair and pulled both arms in closer around his waist. "Once I was released from Dachau," he started, "I went back home to see my parents." He paused to swallow hard. His eyes glistened brightly, but no tears fell. "But they were killed when their apartment building was hit in a bombing raid. I tried finding a job, and a place where all three of us could live, but it was impossible. Too many businesses had been destroyed and there was hardly any work. So I went back to Munich, which was close to where David and Hannah were. I got lucky and ran into a former sergeant of mine. He gave me a job working for him as a butcher."

"That's how we were able to survive," David continued. "Kendrick would bring us scraps of fatty meat. Once Hannah got pregnant, the extra food really made the difference."

"You guys had another baby?" Starsky asked excitedly.

"Yes," David said proudly. "A girl this time. And, of course, we named her 'Ahava' just as Hannah and I had decided when we knew she was pregnant in Warsaw."

"So, I do have a cousin, right?" Starsky almost didn't want to ask. He'd been grieving the loss of Isaac ever since finding out about the infant. If there'd been a second child who had died…

But fortunately, David's expression remained cheerful. "Yes, she's living in Chicago with her husband and five year old son, Peter. I was just there visiting them." David's smile faded a little. "It's hard to describe, what it feels like to be a grandfather."

"I can only imagine," Hutch replied. He looked thoughtful for moment. "You said 'I was just there'…you made the trip alone, then?"

Starsky glanced appreciatively at his partner, thankful he'd had found a way to discreetly ask about Hannah.

"My wife wasn't with me," David answered. "Hannah died about six months after Ahava was born…"

Starsky felt like he'd just been hit by a ton of bricks. _She died so soon after having their baby?_ _And after all they'd been through and suffered?_ No, he must've heard wrong. David's reunion with Hannah had been like a fairytale, and in those stories, the good guys weren't supposed to die! He searched for something appropriate to say, but his thoughts only kept getting tangled and stuck in his head. Clearing his throat, Starsky was about to take his best shot when, thankfully, David continued.

"Living in the camps took their toll on her. Even after we moved to the DP camp, she frequently got sick. When Hannah told me she was pregnant, I…well, I asked if she would be all right. Of course I wanted another child, but not if that meant…" David paused and shook his head. "She always was a little stubborn," he managed, with a ghost of a smile. "After Hannah died, I went back to having only one girl in my life."

"It couldn't have been easy, being a single parent." Hutch sounded like he was giving a prompt for more information.

"I had help," David answered, suddenly looking happier. He pointed his thumb at Kendrick. "When the other women in camp saw Ahava's uncle trying to care for her, they all started lining up in front of my door."

"Now, you know that's not true!" Kendrick admonished, shaking his index finger. "I could diaper her perfectly fine."

"I think the goal is to have the diaper _stay_ on the baby once you pick her up," David said pointedly.

Amid the chuckling in the room, Kendrick's irritated expression eased. "Well, since I have become the butt of your joke," he said, "maybe that means it's time for us to go."

Starsky's stomach sank. He'd enjoyed these last few days tremendously, despite the chest tube procedure. Now, as he watched his cousin and Kendrick stand, Starsky knew this special time had come to an end. He tried to offer up a sincere smile as Kendrick walked over to his bedside.

"Thank you, for having us come and letting us meet you. We'll want to hear updates on your recovery," Kendrick said sincerely. "I gave Hutch our addresses and phone numbers, so when you're back on your feet, we'd love to have the both of you come and visit."

Shaking Kendrick's hand, Starsky said, "I'm glad, too. And I promise, me and Hutch will come up as soon as I can escape this joint."

"We'll be looking forward to it." Kendrick smiled and took hold of Hutch's elbow. "Shall we let the cousins say goodbye in private?" he suggested softly.

"Sure," Hutch said. He offered a hand to David. "Thank you for sharing that amazing story. I don't think I've ever heard a more inspirational tale of survival and friendship. You and Kendrick should write a book about it sometime. I'm sure there are thousands of people who'd find it very meaningful."

"I'm very pleased to hear that." One of David's eyebrows lifted. "_Thousands_ of people, huh? Well, I'll definitely consider doing that." He leaned closer to Hutch, and added, "Take good care of my cousin, even if he gives you a hard time."

"Oh, I've got plenty of experience in dealing with him," Hutch quipped. Motioning to Kendrick, he extended an arm out the door. "Shall we?"

* * *

Left alone with Starsky, David approached his bedside. He put his hand on Starsky's forearm, and squeezed gently. "I'm glad they left, because there was something else I wanted to tell you."

"What is it?" Starsky asked.

"When I read about your shooting, I couldn't believe that it happened on Saturday, the 5th of May. You see, that date is very important to me."

Starsky stared at his cousin, curious to know the answer.

"When Hannah found me in the camp, it was on a Saturday, the 5th of May. Interesting coincidence, yes?" he asked.

Starsky felt his mouth gape open in surprise; he shut it hurriedly. He looked down to the numbers tattooed on David's arm. Did people ever ask about them? Or even understood their significance? "You said Ahava was only six months old when Hannah…" Finding it hard to say the word, Starsky looked back up at David.

"It's okay," he said. "I've always believed that she's still here with me, I just can't see her anymore."

Starsky smiled. "When did she die? What year?"

"1948. We were getting ready to come to New York. Kendrick, too."

Starsky shook his head in frustration. "Didn't it make you crazy? Angry? I mean, I know you had your daughter to take care of, but losing the love of your life, and after all you'd been through…"

David's eyes dipped slightly. "I've always been comforted knowing that Hannah accomplished the one thing she really wanted," he said. "You see, before she died, she got to see her daughter, alive and healthy. She always worried about that when she was pregnant. The doctor had told us Hannah might have a hard time, keeping the baby. Because Isaac was born early, and…"

In that brief moment, Starsky had an eerie sense of what David was about to say, and the answer slipped out from his own mouth. "Hannah had another baby, didn't she?"

David bowed his head. "She never told me, but I'd suspected there'd been another child."

"How? When?"

"While we were in Majdanek. That day I saw her in the yard, the way she tried to cover her stomach." David paused and slightly shook his head. "After she was pregnant with Ahava, she'd occasionally say something strange; about her 'other' girl. I didn't dare ask her—I'd seen how the Nazis took care of newborns; they'd drown them in a bucket or smash their heads against a wall. Knowing Hannah, she'd never want me to mourn another murdered child."

"So when Ahava was born, like you said, alive and healthy, Hannah felt that she'd accomplished her goal?"

David's eyes shone with gratitude. "Yes. She wanted so much for us to have a child. I think she knew she didn't have much time left, and she just didn't want to leave me alone again."

Starsky let David's words sink in. Inevitably, his thoughts reached back in time to Terri. "When she died, was there a part of you…that was glad she wasn't suffering anymore?"

Lowering his gaze, David stared blankly at the floor. "To have wanted her to stay," he began slowly, "would've been selfish on my part. But letting her go wasn't easy. Thank God I had Ahava to take care of and keep me busy. She became my world, my reason to live, and I've never regretted having her…even if that meant saying goodbye to Hannah."

"I hope I can find someone like that to marry me one day," Starsky wished out loud. "Love like yours and Hannah's doesn't come around very often."

"No, it doesn't," David agreed. "The love of a good woman is one of life's greatest blessings."

For a long moment, the two men shared a silence punctuated only by the soft hiss of the suction pump connected to Starsky's chest tube. Finally, David said, "There's something else I want to say. What I've told you, my story, it's the first time I've ever shared that with anyone."

Starsky did a slight double take. "You mean, Kendrick's never heard it before?"

"He's heard some things, but much of what I told you, no, he hasn't."

"But you both seemed to know what had happened to each other," Starsky replied, still dumbfounded. "Did you hear his story before?"

"No," David answered, shaking his head. "Not everything. I guess when he heard me finally talking, he decided to do the same." David sighed. "My father's last wish was for me to survive—to bear witness. When we were finally allowed to immigrate to America, my mother's family let us stay with them until Kendrick and I could support ourselves. I'd try to tell them what happened to the Jews, but they didn't want to listen."

"I take it they weren't Jewish."

"No, they _were_. Many people were like that, though. They couldn't believe such terrible things, and who could blame them? The war was over, everyone wanted to forget it and start enjoying life. That hurt me so much." David ran a hand across his cheek, wiping away a tear. "I had survived the worst possible nightmare and no one wanted to listen. Not only was I letting my father down, but the millions of other people who perished. I could've talked to Kendrick, but I knew he had his own grief and sorrow, so I just kept quiet and concentrated on raising my daughter."

"Does she know about what happened to you?" Starsky asked as he settled the side of his head deeper into his pillow.

"Most of it. She's still a little girl in my eyes, you understand. On this last visit, I gave her one of the diamonds that Hannah had saved."

"You mean the ones that Uncle Emir gave you?" Starsky saw David nod. "But how? I mean, if people had to swallow things like that, seems that the Germans were looking in every nook and cranny."

"They were," David smiled. "But Hannah found one place they hardly ever checked." He pointed a finger at his ear. "Just in front of the canal, she had a tiny pocket. She'd mixed a little wet dirt around the diamonds, so they would stay in place. Even if someone looked, all they'd see is the little wad of dirt."

"What did you do with the second diamond?"

"We used it to help pay for us to come to America. I'm sure Uncle Emir would've approved of our decision."

"I'm glad you told me all this," Starsky said, cherishing this new knowledge of his family's past. He took a deep sigh and glanced up at the ceiling. "You know, once I was old enough, I asked Pop whether he had any relatives. Ma had so many on her side—aunts, uncles, cousins—it took awhile before I realized none of them were related to Pop." Starsky looked back at David. "He said everyone had been lost during the war…I can still picture the look in his eyes when he said that. Like he was lost, too. Maybe that's why he named me 'David'—after you."

David smiled proudly. "I'd like to think that, too."

"You should talk to my mom," Starsky said. "I know she'd appreciate hearing the story. Especially the times you were together with my Pop."

David tapped his pocket. "I've got the number you gave me. I'll call her as soon as I get back home. How's that?"

Starsky felt pleased. "Don't be surprised if she invites you to come to New York."

David smiled widely, and patted Starsky on the shoulder. "You get well, okay? And find the right woman. We Starsky men need to keep the family name going."

"When I do have a son," Starsky said, "how would you feel about me naming him Jakob?"

A flash of pride played across David's face. "I think that would be a fine name." David took a step back, then stopped, looking as if he was contemplating something. "There's one more thing…"

"Shoot," Starsky remarked.

"Looking back, I've always asked myself 'why?' Why did I survive and so many others die? To be honest, I never came up with an answer." He smiled briefly. "But what I think helped was that I always had a special person by me. In the beginning, Kendrick was there. When my relationship with my father wasn't very strong, Hannah came into my life. Then, when I lost her for a little while, Papa became my best friend. When he was taken away, Kendrick appeared again. That day he saw me in Auschwitz, I wanted to reach out and hug him, but…"

Starsky watched David's expression grow tight. It wasn't hard imagining the pain he still carried deep inside. "But all you could see was the uniform, right?" Starsky asked softly.

David's eyes locked onto his. "Yes," he said, almost sobbing. "And I felt so ashamed. When I looked at him, I still remembered our friendship and the bond we'd shared since childhood. I knew he wouldn't hurt me. He'd rather have died than hurt me, or Papa. But he was a German and I was a Jew, and back then that boundary couldn't be crossed. So I became the prisoner, the slave…and he was my master."

Starsky reached out and offered an opened hand. "I hear you," he said, giving him a sympathetic smile.

David took hold of Starsky's hand and squeezed it firmly. "We never know what is destined to come our way, good or bad. But having a good friend by your side, someone who loves you no matter what, can make any journey worthwhile."

Starsky felt a tear forming. "Trust me," he replied, "I have one of the best."

* * *

Kendrick and Hutch strolled down the hall and past the nurses' station. The older man had been acting a little uptight since leaving Starsky's room, making Hutch wonder what was on his mind.

Breaking the awkward silence, Hutch said, "I know I can speak for Starsky, but we're really glad that you and David came."

Kendrick clasped both hands behind his back. "You two are very close, aren't you?"

"I'd say that's a fair assessment."

Walking a little farther, Kendrick said, "You know, when I saw Hannah in Dachau, I thought she'd be glad to see me."

"Wasn't she?" Hutch asked.

"Not at first, not really. When I got done telling her everything I saw happening to David and the rest of the Jews in Auschwitz, I think she had a hard time seeing me as a friend."

"But later, after the war…"

"Yes, things between us improved, of course, but it wasn't until just a few days ago that I learned something unexpected from David."

Hutch stopped and looked at the older man. He'd sounded very despondent with that last comment. "What did he say?" Hutch asked, bracing for the revelation.

Kendrick glanced down at the floor. "He actually hated me once. But I spent many years disgusted with myself, so knowing I wasn't the only one then doesn't matter." Looking up at Hutch, he said, "What I want to tell you is, don't make the same mistake with Starsky as I did with David."

Hutch shook his head, confused. "I…I don't know what you're getting at."

"Your partner and my best friend are two very strong people. They've not only survived things that have killed many men, but they didn't give up one ounce of their souls in the process. Now, I'd like to say that my friendship with David helped him survive the war, but that would be rather…how do you say it, 'conceited' of me. _Ja_? And with that big ego, I spent many years feeling I was responsible for what happened to him."

Hutch shifted uncomfortably on his heels. "In all due respect, I don't see what that has to do with me and Starsky—"

"Everything," Kendrick answered. "You feel responsible for what happened to him. Sure, you didn't aim a gun at him and shoot, the same way I never aimed one at David. But we still feel responsible for their wounds. Every time David flinches in pain or suffers through a flashback, I feel it, right here in my heart." Kendrick placed a fist on his chest. "What people like us don't seem to understand is, there's a good reason why men like David and Starsky have lived through such horrible events. It's because they are _survivors_. When we see them go through hell and come out with their spirits still whole and pure, that's experiencing a gift from God. It makes us want to be stronger, more compassionate human beings."

Hutch instantly saw the connection. To him, Starsky had always been a gift, a very precious one.

"What I learned, in David's case, was to let it go," Kendrick explained. "He's a strong man, just like Starsky is. They don't need us to be that way, they just need some support when they feel a little weak. Their strength is God-given, and you and I, we have the pleasure of being in the presence of that gift every single day."

"I see what you're saying," Hutch said.

"I hope you do," Kendrick replied. "I was reading a book the other day, about the concentration camps. It said that 6 million Jews were killed. I asked David once, how many Sonderkommando he thought ever worked in Auschwitz. 'Maybe around fifteen hundred,' he said, 'certainly not more than that.' When he left that hell, there were only about a hundred of them still alive, and out of those, barely two dozen who'd actually worked inside the gas chambers." Kendrick paused for a moment. "Now, think about that. What were his odds of surviving? He witnessed the greatest crime on earth, and believe me, I think he saw far worse than what he told us, yet, he still had enough love in his heart to raise a beautiful, precious child. Starsky is just like him. He's survived incredible odds. Don't let what happened to him make you any less of a good friend than you already are."

"Wise words to live by," Hutch said, humbled. "And I'll be looking forward to seeing you and David again."

"And the same to you."

* * *

**Epilogue**

**.  
**

Hutch jumped out of the LTD and hurried across the hospital parking lot. Traffic was extra heavy on the interstate, and now he was running late. Today was supposed to be one of the best days of his life. After nearly two and a half months in the hospital, Starsky was being released. His prognosis appeared to be good, but it was no secret there was a long road ahead of him. Unfortunately, Hutch feared that what he had stuffed in his pocket was going to make that road a bit longer.

Finally reaching the fourth floor, Hutch got off the elevator and traveled the memorized course to Starsky's room. Walking in the doorway, Hutch saw his partner sitting on the bed, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. It was a long awaited and welcome sight: far more preferable than seeing Starsky dressed in a periwinkle flowered hospital gown.

"Well, it's about time," Starsky grumbled. He slowly eased off of the mattress and stood beside a wheelchair parked near the foot of his bed. "The doc said I had to ride in this damn thing until I got to the front door, or else he wasn't releasing me. So, that means you get to drive."

Hutch felt a grin momentarily tug at his mouth, but then the reality of what he had to do sank back in. "Starsk, I think you'd better sit down again."

Starsky stared at him, looking as if he wasn't sure if Hutch was about to play a bad joke or tell him he'd just been diagnosed with a fatal disease. Naturally choosing to be stubborn, Starsky remained standing. "What's goin' on?" he asked.

Taking a few steps closer, Hutch reached in his jacket and pulled out an envelope. "I just got this in the mail," he said, removing the letter inside. Hutch unfolded the sheet of paper and handed it to Starsky. "It's from Kendrick."

Starsky grabbed the letter. He started to read and, with his eyes still glued on the page, he sank down on the mattress. Hutch silently watched, waiting for the instant that Starsky would look back up at him, his eyes full of hurt and confusion. With the letter already committed to memory, Hutch could almost read each word reflected on his partner's shocked face…

.

_July 19th, 1979_

_"Dear 'Hutch',  
_

_Forgive me for not calling and telling you this, but I didn't think I'd be able to do so without falling apart. Yesterday, I lost my best friend. David died quietly at 11:09 pm at Mercy Hospital. Ahava and I were with him when he passed._

_He'd been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer late last year. He said he didn't tell anyone because he didn't want people to treat him any different. The trip he took to Chicago was so he could break the news to Ahava. _

_While I realize this probably comes as a shock to you, I am asking you to pass this news on to Starsky. Please let him know that he has my deepest sympathies. _

_Before he died, David asked me for one last favor. He wanted to be cremated, and his ashes taken back to Germany. He always loved his homeland, but after the war, he just couldn't live there anymore. I think he probably feared that another Holocaust might happen again._

_David's wishes were to have his ashes scattered over Hannah's grave. Although this was all he asked, deep inside I feel that wasn't the only place he wanted to be. _

_So, in two weeks, I will be flying back to Germany. After I'm done honoring his first wish, I'll be traveling to Warsaw and then on to Auschwitz. For the first time in over 30 years, David will finally be with all of his family. I wish there was more I could do, but I have to seek comfort in knowing that my friend is finally at peace and that the nightmares that haunted him on earth can never visit him again._

_I hope this letter finds you in good health, and that Starsky will soon be going home from the hospital. I will miss David tremendously, maybe even more than I realize, for I feel a big part of me went with him._

_ Sincerely, your friend,_

_ Kendrick Hutchinson"_

_.  
_

Starsky let the hand holding the letter drop to his lap. He continued to stare at it for a long time. Finally, he raised his head. "Mom said that he called her. She told me she learned a lot about Pop, things she would've never known otherwise."

"That was nice of him to call her."

"Yeah," Starsky sighed sadly. "We're still gonna go up there one day, aren't we?" He folded the letter and handed it back.

"Sure," Hutch said, opening up the letter again. "Anytime you feel up to it."

Hutch scanned the piece of paper again. He must have taken a long time because his concentration was broken when Starsky loudly cleared his throat.

"Did I miss something?" his partner asked.

"_Meine Ehre heißt Treue,"_ Hutch muttered.

"What?" Starsky asked, confused.

Hutch lifted his head. "'My Honor is Loyalty'. Kendrick said that was the motto of the SS."

With his eyebrows raised and forehead crinkled, Starsky said, "Come again?"

Hutch shook his head and smiled gently. "I was just wondering if Kendrick realizes that he's still following that motto. All along, his loyalty has been to David." Releasing a sigh, Hutch slipped the letter back inside the envelope. "You ready to get out of here?" he asked.

"What do you think?" Starsky got up, but before taking a seat in the wheelchair, he stopped for a moment.

"Forget something?" Hutch asked.

Starsky looked at him. "Yeah. I forgot to say 'thank you.'"

Surprised, Hutch said, "Thank you? For what?"

"For being a good friend…for being there, when I needed you."

Hutch raised his hand and placed it on Starsky's shoulder. "That's what pals are for. Maybe 30 years from now, we'll still need each other to lean on."

"Can't think of anyone else I'd rather have."

.

**THE END**


End file.
